


Battle Towards Surrender

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Family, Femslash, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collision of various prompts collected at Tumblr over the past month. It begins, here, with Henry wondering about how they should feel about Regina now the curse is broken. From there, a plan is hatched which requires Regina and Emma to pose as lovers in order to have Regina admitted to the rabble roused to fight Rumpelstiltskin for control of Storybrooke. That's the premise, you'll have to read to find out the rest.</p><div class="center">
<br/><img/></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Something bad,” Henry says, as they stare at the purple smoke swallowing the town. And he knows, really, that it isn’t the time, but he finds himself tugging on Emma’s sleeve anyway. The leather is soft and familiar under his hand, and that helps. Because Henry is kind of freaking out right now.  
  
  
“Emma?” He asks when she looks down at him. “Can we… talk for a minute?”  
  
  


  


“Sure, kid,” Emma says, still looking uneasily at the window. “Can we have the room please, everyone?”

 

The nurses and doctors trail out, kind of like zombies, everyone staring at the windows as they walk. Emma looks kind of impressed that they actually listened to her, but Henry guesses maybe everyone just knows how to respond to royalty. Which Emma is. And—oh boy—technically Henry is too.

 

There’s a pretty good chance he’s going to puke, Henry thinks, and not just because he was kind of dead for a while there.

 

“She said—” Henry starts to say when the last stranger leaves his hospital room. “Emma, did you hear what she said to me?”

 

“Every word,” Emma confirms, leading him back to the bed and helping him sit on it. She keeps glancing at the window, but even as the purple smoke approaches it doesn’t seem to be doing anything, not that Henry can see anyway.

 

“She loves me,” Henry says in a really small voice. “I thought maybe when she lost like that she would say she hadn’t ever loved me at all.”

 

“She’s your Mom, kid,” Emma says, her voice sounding weird, like maybe she’s trying not to cough. “Whatever happens now, she brought you up for ten years. Trust me, people don’t do that for no reason.”

 

“Are you gonna kill her?” Henry asks, staring at his feet. They’re kind of dirty, considering he spent all night in a hospital bed. Mom would fuss about that. He’d be marched straight to the bathroom.

 

“What?” Emma asks, and she sounds so strangled that Henry has to look at her. “No, I… it won’t come to that, probably.”

 

Henry thinks she’d maybe better work on her lying. She’s never going to survive being a parent otherwise. Everyone knows they have to lie all the time.

 

“I don’t want her to die,” Henry admits. “I mean, she has to make it up to everyone. But dying won’t fix that.”

 

“You’re right,” Emma says, ruffling his hair. “And I’m gonna tell everyone that, when we uh… oh God, I have to see everyone.”

 

“You’re going to meet your parents,” Henry points out, noticing how Emma looks pretty close to puking right now. “Trust me. It’s a good feeling, when it happens.”

 

“I need to find out where your Mom went,” Emma says. “I don’t think we want anyone else to get there first. Especially not Mr. Gold.”

 

“Did you find out who he is in my book?” Henry asks, suddenly excited. No more being told to shut up, no more laughing at him. He gets answers, now.

 

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Emma replies, squeezing her eyes shut. “He’s Rumpelstiltskin; how do you like that?”

 

“Oh,” Henry says. “I mean, I guess that makes sense.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” Emma says, hugging him with one arm. “Are you feeling well enough to get out of here? It’s okay if you need to stay.”

 

“I’m fine,” Henry answers with a shrug. “Dying’s not that hard, I guess.”

 

“Don’t ever do it again,” Emma threatens, tears in her eyes again. “You scared the crap out of us, kid.”

 

“Us?” Henry pounces.

 

“Your mom and me,” Emma admits. “She was right there, every step of the way. And… well, the weird thing is she didn’t do anything evil. As soon as she knew you were in danger she helped me.”

 

“Once you busted her about the curse, right?” Henry asks.

 

“She uh,” Emma hesitates. “She gave it up right away. As soon as I asked her.”

 

“I bet she didn’t want to tell you the plan though,” Henry says, not as sure as when he started this conversation.

 

“No, she told me everything,” Emma corrects him. “She went to Gold, I didn’t have to force her. She gave up all her secrets. He’s the one who tried to double-cross us.”

 

“Huh,” Henry says, taking all of this in. Everything is so different since he woke up, and it’s not just because the curse broke. “You know, I was thinking about one of my stories while I was asleep.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma asks, looking out at where the purple smoke has now disappeared. “Which one?”

 

“In Beauty and the Beast, Belle meets a strange woman on the road. She tells her that True Love’s Kiss will break any curse.”

 

“Right,” Emma says, pacing again now. “That’s how I woke you up, remember?”

 

“But what if the Evil Queen’s evil is… a kind of curse?” Henry asks. “What if she just needs someone to love her and kiss her at the same time?”

 

“I doubt that,” Emma says, but she’s looking at Henry with something like caution on her face. “And we’d have to find someone who loves Regina. That’s not gonna be an easy sell.”

 

“No,” Henry admits. “But I think I might have a plan.”

 

“A new Operation Cobra?” Emma asks, making Henry smile with the kindness in her voice.

 

“Right,” Henry agrees. “Operation Cobra II.”

 

“You need better names, kid,” Emma says, smiling. “We’ve got a whole lot to do. You want to get started?”

 

“Yup,” Henry says, reaching for the cupboard by his bed, where his clothes and backpack are stored. “I love you, Emma,” he adds, ducking out of sight right as she says it back.


	2. Part One

"Have you lost your tiny mind?" Regina spins on her killer heels, staring at Emma with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

 

"It's the only way I can think of to make them let you join our team," Emma says, her voice steely but her resolve weakening. This is the Evil Freaking Queen, after all, not just the snooty bitch who's been raising Emma's kid for a decade.

 

She remembers watching Snow White (oh God, that's her Mom) in one of her foster homes and the other kids having nightmares for a week. Now Emma's offering the stuff of nightmares an olive branch and actually betting the collective safety of everyone she cares about on that person's willingness to help. As bad ideas go, it's right up there with banging married guys or saying 'one time without protection, what are the odds?'.

 

"I have to pretend to be... your lover?" Regina asks, her voice dripping with disgust at the idea. Emma would be offended if she weren't so set on getting her plan to work.

 

"You know Mary Margaret," Emma says, not able to deal with the name changes just yet. "If I tell her I'm in love with you, she won't stand in our way. And hey, we already have the kid. It's the L Word, waiting to happen."

 

"What," Regina snaps. "Is the goddamned L Word?"

 

"You'll take people's hearts, but a Showtime package was a step too far?" Emma asks, shoving her hands in the pockets of her blue leather jacket, in case Regina notices them shaking.

 

"I could stay here," Regina says quietly, and the terrifying part for Emma is that it's the voice of someone very close to giving up. "I have to die sometime, Miss Swan. Why not go down fighting, in my own home?"

 

"Because," Emma replies. "Henry needs more from you. And if there's one thing I've learned from this past year? It's that you love him too much not to do everything in your power to protect him."

 

"Love is a weakness," Regina says, straightening her spine. "But for Henry's sake? I'll go along with your little plan."

 

***

 

"What is she doing here?" David says, jumping out of his chair at the sight of Regina. They've taken over the convent, since the nuns (wait, fairies) fled in the dead of night. It makes a solid base of operations, since Gold is reluctant to even come near it and they have a clear sightline in every direction.

 

"She's with me," Emma says firmly, stepping in front of Regina to make it clear. "She wants to help us."

 

"I see the Blue Fairy has stayed true to form," Regina drawls from behind Emma. "Never around when she's truly needed."

 

"You’re not needed, sister," Leroy--Grumpy, Emma corrects herself--chimes in. "We can fight just fine on our own."

 

"A pick-axe against the power of the Dark One?" Regina taunts, stepping out from behind Emma, linking their arms instead. Emma manages (just in time) to not look startled at the move. That it feels kind of nice is really not a big deal at all, and instead she forces herself to pay attention to the other people in the room. “I’m sure our old friend Rumpel is quaking in his boots.”

 

“Regina,” Snow warns (Emma supposes that’s step one on the way to ‘Mom’ at least). “Why are you really here?”

 

“You’re here for me, aren't you?" Henry says, walking into the room at that moment. Emma's relieved to see him again, uneasy at having left him alone even just long enough to collect Regina.

 

"Yes," Regina says, the honesty on her face hard to miss. She looks overwhelmed at the sight of her son, so Emma doesn't mind when Regina grips her forearm hard enough to bruise. “How are you, Henry?” She asks, just about keeping the tears in check.

 

“Fine, Mom,” Henry sighs, like she’s just asking about his homework again. Emma stressed, while forming this plan, that he should try to be as welcoming as possible to Regina. Emma’s surprised at how normal he’s acting, but then she’s also heard him crying at night when he thinks she can’t hear him. There’s a lot going on in that little head of his, and missing the only mother he’s ever known is a big part of it.

 

“Emma?” Snow says, the question unspoken but understood.

 

“I’m sure,” Emma replies. “I’m going to take Regina upstairs so she can settle in before dinner, okay?”

 

“It’s not a damn hotel,” Grumpy mutters, just loud enough for the entire room to hear. Emma gives him a tight little smile, before tugging Regina towards the door.

 

“Come on,” Emma says, when Regina resists being led around like some kind of prisoner. “And maybe stop with the death stares, if you want anyone to buy that we’ve been secretly in love with each other.

 

And Regina, being Regina, just rolls her eyes instead. Well, Emma thinks as they approach the staircase, that’s some kind of progress at least.

 

***

 

“No,” Regina states quite firmly. “No way. This is not going to happen.”

 

“You think I like this?” Emma asks, stomping across the bedroom to check her phone. At least the return of magic hasn’t screwed up the wi-fi connection. “On my list of fantasy roommates, you’re about one place ahead of Hannibal Lecter.”

 

“Now, that reference I got,” Regina says, with one of her slightly-creepy smiles.

 

“Of course you did,” Emma sighs. “I’m going to grab a shower. The bathrooms are down the hall, in case you were wondering. You can unpack,” she adds, waving at the bags they’ve brought from the Mayor’s mansion. Emma can’t help wondering how long that building will stay standing once Gold realizes it’s empty.

 

“Communal bathrooms?” Regina asks, looking horrified.

 

“Don’t worry, we can go in pairs in case you think anyone is going to lie in wait for you,” Emma suggests, hoping that it’s the only complaint Her Majesty has. They’re all trying to make the best of a slightly crappy situation right now. “Besides, in this part of the building we’re only sharing with Henry and Ruby.”

 

“Red,” Regina corrects, absent-mindedly, already pulling clothes from one of her bags.

 

“Right,” Emma sighs, grabbing her towel. “Make yourself at home.”

 

***

 

Emma leaves Regina alone with Henry at dinner, figuring they have a lot of crap to start sifting through. That it gives Emma a break from the woman who’s turned her life upside down is a pretty sweet bonus; this sharing a room thing is going to be pretty awful. Snow shoots a questioning look when Emma sits down with them for dinner, helping herself to a bowl of stew and some fresh bread.

 

“Can we trust her, Emma?” Snow asks, the concern still evident as she watches Henry and Regina carry on a stilted conversation at the far end of the long table.

 

“Maybe not,” Emma admits. “But I believe she’ll do anything to protect Henry.”

 

“And you really care for her?” Da--James asks, and Emma nods with almost no reluctance.

 

“Don’t ask me to explain it,” she says, hoping to avoid further grilling. “But I want her here, okay? I’ll do whatever I can to keep the peace. And she was right about that damn Fairy.”

 

“Yes,” James admits, grudgingly. “Of all the things we need to forgive, the Blue Fairy preventing us from coming with you to this world is perhaps the hardest.”

 

Emma doesn’t look at her mother then, knowing that she’ll only see tears again.

 

“But forgiving people is probably a good thing,” Emma urges. “I know it’s asking a lot, but we have to try, right? What’s the point in being the good guys if we don’t?”

 

“It’s not that easy, Emma,” Snow says, her voice wavering a little.

 

“I don’t know everything about your lives,” Emma persists. “But if that damn book taught me anything, it’s how crappy everything gets when people can’t let go of the past.”

 

“Regina did a lot worse than that,” Snow points out. “But I suppose you’re right. We’ll work on it.”

 

“Thank you,” Emma says, shoving a piece of bread in her mouth when her voice comes out all shaky.

 

***

 

“Ow!” Emma grunts as Regina’s heel connects with her shin. “Are you trying to swim somewhere? Because the last person I saw thrashing around this much was drowning.”

 

“Lucky them,” Regina grouses, pulling at the blankets. “Drowning sounds preferable to freezing to death.”

 

“It’s May,” Emma points out. “And you’re giving off heat like a furnace. Aren’t you supposed to be cold-blooded?”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping on the floor?” Regina snipes.

 

“Not outside of your imagination, no,” Emma fires back. “It’s a stone floor!” She adds, for emphasis.

 

“This was a ridiculous idea,” Regina grumbles. “How do I know you’re not just waiting to smother me in my sleep?”

 

“There are easier ways to get rid of you,” Emma admits. “Not to mention that if I didn’t there’s already a line of volunteers. I promised you’d be safe here, and this is how we guarantee it.”

 

“Nobody wants me here,” Regina whispers. “Not even Henry.”

 

“We’re trying,” Emma says, not unkindly. “It’s a big ask. Some people are never going to get over it, you know.”

 

“I guess I understand that,” Regina replies, with a short, hollow laugh. “Why are you so eager to forgive me, anyway?”

 

“Because I don’t want to end up like you,” Emma says, before she can stop herself. Oh well, maybe Regina’s feelings could stand to be a little hurt.

 

Regina’s angry silence lasts a long time after that.

 

***

 

“Do you want my help or not?” Regina snaps as James shoots down yet another of her suggestions. “I have dark magic at my disposal, after all. Or do you mean to defeat him with nothing more than a smile and some misplaced hope?”

 

“There are ways,” James says. “Of winning with honor.”

 

“Honor?” Regina snorts. “This is not a tourney, your Majesty. We’re fighting for our lives. I’ve already fixed countless holes in the protection your precious fairies left you.”

 

“And for that we are grateful,” Snow interrupts. “But there is little point in winning if we have to stoop to his level to do it.”

 

“Regina,” Emma pleads. “Can’t you think of any other way?”

 

“Stop trying to handle me!” Regina lashes out, knocking her water glass along the table with an angry swipe of her arm.

 

Snow is watching them, Emma realizes a fraction too late. She’s clearly looking for some sign that things have changed, some evidence of the love Emma has claimed between her and Regina, but Snow isn’t seeing anything of the kind. Taking a deep breath, Emma puts a very careful arm around Regina’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

 

“Behave,” Emma whispers, close enough for only Regina to hear. “We’re going to take a walk around the grounds, clear our heads,” Emma adds for everyone else’s benefit. “Let’s start this fight again in an hour, okay?”

 

“Very well,” James agrees, pulling his maps clear of the spilled water with a pained expression. Emma wonders if they were bargaining on this when they reunited with their adult daughter; she has to suspect they did not.

 

***

 

She doesn’t let go of Regina until they’re safely in the tiny orchard at the back of the convent. Whether it’s the absence of other people or perhaps the presence of familiar apples, Regina seems calmer, relaxing under Emma’s loose embrace. As soon as Emma does drop her arm, Regina strides off, not stopping until there are at least three trees between them.

 

“We have to be careful,” Emma says, not raising her voice. No one has followed them, and enchantments keep the grounds secure, but still she feels on edge. Being cooped up so long is anathema to her, and it’s not exactly bringing out the best in Regina, either.

 

“Not to offend your darling parents?” Regina mocks, screwing up her face in disgust. “No, why would I want to upset the woman who ruined my life and her simple husband?”

 

“Hey!” Emma warns. “You can’t have forgotten our deal already. And Snow is already suspicious of how we act around each other, didn’t you see that?”

 

“She’s always been far too interested in other people,” Regina grumbles, but she’s moving back through the orchard now, her preference for invading Emma’s personal space when they argue kicking in.

 

“I’m saying, it couldn’t hurt if we maybe... acted a little more like a couple, just in front of people. Whatever you think, I don’t want anyone having an excuse to turn on you. Not in front of Henry,” Emma adds the last bit in a rush, uncomfortable with how much her own instinct is to protect Regina. Henry hasn’t expressed much concern either way, not now he has a whole gang of people to play with and mini-swords to fight with.

 

“They hate me,” Regina points out, quite reasonably. “You only see love and concern radiating back whenever you look at these people, but what I see is very different, Miss Swan.”

 

“They might forgive you, in time,” Emma argues. “Some of them, at least. It’s better, for all of us.”

 

“And you’ll forgive me?” Regina asks, not buying it for a second. “I took your family, I took your childhood; you should have been raised as a princess who wanted for nothing, and look what you got instead.”

 

“I got Henry,” Emma defends herself. “And so did you.”

 

“Even if you could forgive me,” Regina says, right up in Emma’s face now. “Why would you want to?”

 

“I don’t know,” Emma admits, staring into those challenging brown eyes without blinking. “Maybe because, unlike everyone else, I bothered to read your story.”

 

“You may think of me as some character in a child’s book,” Regina retorts. “But my life was--”

 

“So much worse,” Emma finishes. “I can read between the lines, too. Don’t you think it’s strange? That by saving me from the curse the way she did, my mother accidentally created the one person who might understand some of what you went through?”

 

“Snow White understands nothing of my life,” Regina snaps. “Nothing about pain, until I took everything from her.”

 

“No,” Emma admits. “She had a charmed life. She’ll tell you so, if you ask her. She was loved, every day, and she could be sure of it. She never doubted for a minute that someone cared about her, that she could have a happy ending,” Emma explains, pausing to consider her next words. “But you and I... it’s never been like that for us, has it?”

 

“My father loved me,” Regina blurts then, apparently ashamed of the admission.

 

“But not enough for it to matter, right?” Emma knows she’s on some thin ice, like the last frost in April thin, but she can’t stop herself. “Not enough to protect you from your mother.”

 

“How dare you talk about them?” Regina snaps, waving a finger in Emma’s face to warn her off. “My father loved me,” she repeats, but her voice is smaller this time, a little less certain.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says. “But there were some days when it didn’t feel like anything, right?” And she didn’t intend for this little chat to turn into an episode of In Treatment, but it feels like she’s actually doing something, making some kind of progress, for the first time since they locked themselves away in this drafty old building. It’s like the first flex and movement after getting a cast off, and Emma’s already bursting to do more. “I’ve dreamed about meeting my parents my whole life, and now they’re here all I can think is ‘why did you send me away?’”

 

“You know why,” Regina sighs. “Because of me.”

 

“They still had a choice,” Emma argues. “They could have kept me with them and found some other way to break the curse.”

 

“Well,” Regina says, shutting the discussion down with that no-arguments tone she usually reserves for Henry. “I’ll work on acting more like your girlfriend, if it means we can avoid talking like this ever again.”

 

“Deal,” Emma says, turning to go back towards the main building. She’s angry to find that she starts crying on the way.

 

***

 

“When I said ‘act more like a couple’,” Emma hisses, cornering Regina in the huge, empty kitchen. “I did not mean ‘grab my ass in front of my father’.”

 

“Oh,” Regina says, looking with obviously faked interest at the fruit on the table. “You should have been more specific.”

 

***

 

“You’ve been quiet,” Regina accuses, as they lie there in the dark.

 

“I’m trying to sleep,” Emma says, turning back to face the window. That’s when she sees the sky light up in the ugliest firework display she’s ever seen. “Fuck!” She yells, scrambling out of bed as Regina does the same.

 

“It seems he’s finally making a move,” Regina says calmly, pulling on (of all things) Emma’s faded gray hoodie. “I’ll be on the roof.”

 

***

 

The first flush of war is not what Emma expects. She watched two Gulf Wars on television and was in New York, fresh out of prison, when the Towers fell. Now though, it’s more like the Fourth of July, except people keep screaming.

 

Nobody listened to Regina’s early insistence that they hold back, that they let her fight and conduct the battle through magic. Instead, this band of brave and noble idiots has been charging their own boundary, meeting all manner of horrors conjured up by Gold.

 

Emma wants to join them, but Regina made her swear to keep Henry safe. There’s a sword in her hand as she watches the battle rage, but she doesn’t make it beyond the relative safety of the four walls. An hour later, or maybe it’s two, and the skies are clear again.

 

Handing Henry over to her mother, Emma sheaths the sword and runs out to help with carrying the injured. She’s stopped short at the sight of James--her father--carrying the obviously dead form of Sneezy, both men covered in blood.

 

“Let me,” she finds herself saying, taking the body into her own arms and starting back towards the Great Hall that will now be hospital and mortuary both. James squeezes her arm, his face crumpling for a moment. “Come in,” she orders gently. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

 

He nods, but looks behind him to where the wounded are straggling back towards the building. Emma understands the impulse, it’s the same dumb instinct that made her linger in a burning room to save Regina after all.

 

“Come in,” she insists. “Snow will want to know you’re okay.”

 

“Fine,” he sighs, and Emma lets him place a hand on her shoulder to help support him as they walk inside. Snow is already in motion at the sight of them, kissing James fiercely before pulling away to check his wounds. Although her face is still the picture of concern, she relaxes at seeing most of the damage is superficial.

 

“Is he--” she asks, looking at the limp body in Emma’s arms. In that moment the weight of him becomes unbearable, and Emma feels the revulsion at holding dead flesh rearing up inside her. She staggers to the nearest table, laying Sneezy down as gently as she can before she falls to her knees.

 

It’s the kind of moment where she wishes she prayed, because all around Emma the injured (carrying two, maybe three dead) are spilling into the room. She watches her mother spring into action, the warrior princess turned nursemaid, barking orders and handing out bandages. It’s only when James raises his arm to flex out an injured shoulder that Emma remembers.

 

Regina.


	3. Part Two

***PART TWO***

 

It takes almost no time to run up the three floors to the roof, even though Emma’s legs are trembling and she stumbles on quite a few stairs. She knows she has blood on her jacket, but it’s not hers and somehow that makes it okay. The sun is just about rising, struggling weakly over the horizon, when Emma bursts through the heavy metal door onto the peeling pitch that covers the convent’s flat roof.

 

“Regina?” She calls out, seeing no evidence of the woman anywhere. “Regina!” Emma can’t explain the panic: for all she knows, Regina might already have gone back downstairs. As the wind dies down for a moment, Emma hears the groan and starts moving towards the sound.

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Emma mutters as she crouches down beside Regina, who’s lying crumpled on the ground. “What happened?” Emma asks, brushing tiny pieces of gravel that have tried to embed themselves in Regina’s cheek.

 

“Too much,” Regina spits the words, clutching at her ribs as though speaking hurts her. “Henry?” She asks, pulling one hand away from her body to grab Emma’s arm. Though Regina looks one strong blink away from passing out altogether (she’s so drained, so gray that Emma feels panic just looking at her) she forces herself to focus on Emma’s face, not risking that she might lie to Regina.

 

“He’s fine,” Emma says firmly, inspecting Regina’s body for any other signs of damage, The gray hoodie is hanging from one shoulder, her black nightgown torn over the hip but there’s no blood or bruising for Emma to worry about. At Regina’s grumble, Emma repeats herself. “He’s _fine_. He’s downstairs with everyone else.”

 

“Okay,” Regina sighs. “Okay,” she mumbles again as her eyes slip closed.

 

“You had better not be dying on me,” Emma finds herself saying as she shakes Regina’s shoulder, gently at first. When Regina doesn’t respond, Emma shakes a little harder, causing Regina’s eyes to snap open. Her expression is wonderfully, reassuringly pissed off.

 

“Tired,” she snaps.

 

“Can you walk?” Emma asks hopefully.

 

“Mmmf,” Regina replies, her cheek already pressed against the ground again, gathering a fresh coating of loose gravel.

 

“Great,” Emma sighs, stretching for a moment before adjusting her crouch so she can lift properly with her knees. That Regina doesn’t resist at the sensation of Emma’s hands slipping under her is the surest sign yet that this is the only way Regina is moving before the morning chill finishes them both off.

 

With slightly faltering steps, Emma carries Regina’s unresisting form back towards the open door and the waiting, endless stairs. When Emma begins her shuffling progress down them (she’s not stupid enough to rush down and risk dropping, or falling with Regina) her patient has the good sense to wrap her arms around Emma’s neck. Halfway down, Regina speaks, though her eyes are still closed.

 

“Sit down for a moment,” she orders quietly. “You don’t have to put me down, just sit, like this. Rest.”

 

Emma could protest quite easily, but her back is already killing her and the last few steps have been a little wobbly. She likes to think of herself as strong, but sitting around in a convent has limited her workout options, and carrying adult humans over long distances was never really in her range to start with.

 

“Fine,” she grunts, lowering herself with some difficulty to sit on a cold, stone step. Regina folds into Emma’s lap easily enough, not releasing her hold around Emma’s neck.

 

“You came for me,” Regina says when Emma’s breathing sounds less harsh. “You came looking.”

 

“Someone had to,” Emma says, shrugging. “And I didn’t want to make anyone suspicious, you know? Although they all have enough to worry about downstairs.”

 

“How many?” Regina asks, her head resting against Emma’s shoulder now, without either of them suggesting the shift in position.

 

“At least two,” Emma chokes out, the sudden lump of emotion that rises in her throat making it hard to talk. “More, probably.”

 

“They should have listened,” Regina states after a long moment of silence. “This battle will not be won with swords and crusades.”

 

“Just with magic that leaves you half-dead on the ground?” Emma fires back, already getting back onto her feet.

 

“I overestimated my strength,” Regina defends herself. “It’s still returning. And if you give me a bit longer, I’ll be able to walk.”

 

“No,” Emma growls, mostly out of spite. “You’re going down to get checked out, now.”

 

“Their homeopathy is no use to me,” Regina counters, but she makes no move to get out of Emma’s grip, and so they shuffle down the rest of the way.

 

Emma deposits Regina--carefully--in the first free chair they find in the Great Hall. Snow is tending to Grumpy just a few feet away, and she turns to talk to Emma right away.

 

“Henry is looking for you,” Snow says. “The injuries... the deaths. He’s scared.”

 

Just then Henry comes barrelling into view, red in the face and obviously crying. “Mom!” he shouts as he approaches Emma, but he pushes past her to hug Regina. The stunned expression on Regina’s face breaks Emma’s heart, just a little.

 

“Henry,” Regina murmurs, smoothing his hair down with one hand as he cries against her chest. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“I thought it would be cool,” Henry sobs. “But everybody’s hurt.”

 

“Wars are never cool, Henry,” Regina says, just a hint of her usual sternness creeping in. “But you will always be safe, okay? I will keep you safe.” Regina kisses the top of his head, her own tears falling now from closed eyes.

 

Emma looks at her Snow, at her own mother, and sees her own discomfort radiating back at her. They’ve spent so long talking about Henry as Emma’s son that they’ve forgotten the reality of it.

 

“And Emma will too,” Regina says softly, not opening her eyes as she rocks Henry gently. He’s cuddled into her in the same position as Emma just carried Regina downstairs in, only his grip is white-knuckled and not at all reluctant. “Your family will protect you.”

 

Emma doesn’t think twice, she reaches out and squeezes Henry’s hand where it’s gripping Regina’s shoulder through the soft material of the hoody. “That’s right, kid,” she adds, her voice thick with tears she won’t allow to fall.

 

“Well,” Snow says lightly, watching them with tear-filled eyes. “I have everything in hand here. Emma, perhaps you can help with breakfast? Everyone should eat. I think Red is fixing some eggs.”

 

“Okay,” Emma says, not wanting to leave Henry at all, but knowing she can’t exactly complain. She shrugs out of her jacket, knowing already that she doesn’t have the heart to try and clean the blood from it. She’ll switch to another, and let this one burn along with the bodies later.

 

***

 

She doesn’t return to bed after breakfast, although it’s hard not to feel jealous when Henry’s clinging to Regina then extends to asking if she’ll come and tuck him in. The kid is the only one who knows there’s nothing going on between Emma and Regina, and he’s obviously decided to take advantage of that. Regina looks so happy at his request that Emma feels a little sick, though she can’t put a finger on exactly why. Something like guilt, maybe, and she has no intention of finding out any more than that.

 

***

 

The death toll is three, in the end.

 

Sneezy, Archie and a guard called Philip that Emma doesn’t remember ever meeting, not here at the convent or in his previous life as a teacher at Henry’s school. There’s a hasty discussion with James and a few of his most trusted advisors, and they agree to build a funeral pyre to be lit when night falls again. Emma loses her morning to gathering and stacking wood, ready for the wrapped bodies to be laid out later. She leaves her ruined leather jacket deep in the second layer.

 

When she runs out of mindless tasks, Emma contents herself by going to sit in the little orchard. She needs a shower, and her eyes are stinging from lack of sleep, but she wants the fresh air for just a little while longer.

 

“Emma,” says the familiar voice behind her as she sits on the ornate wooden bench.

 

“Hey,” Emma replies, opening her eyes to see her mother standing over her, dressed in simpler clothes now--jeans and a sweater not all that different from the contents of Emma’s closet. “Did you need some help?”

 

“No,” Snow says, indicating that Emma should scoot and make room for her. “I just wanted to catch up, really.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma blurts. “About your friends.”

 

“I am too,” Snow says, and it sounds like she might cry again. “Is Henry okay?”

 

“As good as he can be, I guess,” Emma says, twisting the toe of her boot into the grass beneath her feet. “He’s with his mother, so.”

 

“Ah,” Snow says. “Yes. About Regina.”

 

In that moment Emma is ready to let it all go. She’ll confess her deception, fall on her mother’s mercy and hope that Henry’s thawing towards Regina will be enough. Emma’s too tired to lie, too tired to fight and just thinking about Regina leaves her feeling unsettled: stomach churning and fingers trembling.

 

“How is she?” Snow asks, and the question sounds completely alien. “Will she... is she recovering? I don’t really know what happened to her.”

 

“She, uh,” Emma starts to explain. “She was doing magic, I guess. She says she did too much. But she’ll get stronger,” Emma adds, because the instinct that made her bring Regina here in the first place remains strong.

 

“She saved us,” Snow says softly, reaching for Emma’s hand. “I know the men are trying to bluster and pretend that they were one swing of a sword from victory, but it could have been a bloodbath out there without Regina.”

 

“We need her,” Emma challenges as Snow squeezes her hand. “Don’t we?”

 

“She saved my life once before,” Snow says. “Did she tell you about that?”

 

“Yes,” Emma lies, because what she knows of that story comes from Henry’s book. “But she threatened your life, too. I know that.”

 

“I always wondered why she didn’t kill me,” Snow confesses. “It would have been so easy--poison, a spell; even a pillow over my face in the night. We lived together long enough.”

 

“I think...” Emma trails off, not confident about giving voice to the thought. She squints up into the weak sunlight, enjoying the feeling of someone else’s hand in hers. “I think it’s because she loved you. She might not have liked it, but I think that’s probably why.”

 

“Does she love you?” Snow asks, seizing her opportunity. “Because I can already tell that you love her.”

 

“You can?” Emma feels her stomach somersault at the accusation. “I mean, yeah. I guess.”

 

“Oh, I know about your plan, silly girl,” Snow says, leaning her head on Emma’s shoulder. “Nobody else will question you, but I was your roommate for a whole year. I know when you’re up to something.”

 

“Oh,” Emma says, dropping her head back in something like defeat. “Then why would you think I love her?”

 

“I don’t think you wanted her here for her magic,” Snow says cautiously. “But I’m not sure you even realised you had another reason, at the time.”

 

“You think you’re pretty wise, huh?” Emma cracks, wondering how exactly she got herself into this mess.

 

“Oh, definitely,” Snow replies, full of mock sincerity. “What are you going to do, Emma?”

 

“Nothing,” Emma says bluntly. “Nothing at all.”

 

***

 

Emma goes back indoors in time to shower before dinner and the impromptu memorial service. She grabs things from her room, assuming Regina and Henry are in Henry’s bedroom, before locking herself away under a painfully hot shower for half an hour.

 

She cries, for the first time in weeks; she cries until the sobs sound like laughter as they echo against the stark white tiles.

 

***

 

Regina appears only briefly at dinner, filling a tray for Henry and herself before heading straight back upstairs. Emma has never been more tempted to follow, but she forces herself to remain seated next to her mother; there’s been muttering today about setting an example, about leadership.

 

There are many toasts along the long tables, and there are tears and cautious laughter to follow. Emma feels the ragged sense of community running through the room like an electrical current, surprised most of all that it seems to be including her, too.

 

When night finally falls, everyone shuffles out into the garden, casting nervous glances at the mercifully quiet sky. Emma fakes an interest in the conversations around her, watching the open garden doors until Henry finally comes jogging through, Regina trailing in his wake.

 

Emma breathes out, then, and it feels like the first time all day. She can feel Snow’s smirk coming in her direction, but she can’t make herself look at anything but the way Henry moves across the small crowd to take his place at his grandfather’s side, and how Regina looks a little heartbroken at that small rejection, even after a whole day with Henry at her side.

 

“Is he okay?” Emma asks as Regina comes to a halt beside her. 

 

“As well as can be expected,” Regina replies. “He was... close... to Archie. It’s hard to explain life and death here, when so much is uncertain.”

 

“He’s a smart kid,” Emma says, watching him tug at James’s sleeve as they chatter to each other.

 

“Well, the triumph of nurture over nature, I suppose,” Regina bites back, but it’s clear that her heart isn’t in it. 

 

“And...you?” Emma tries, clenching her fingers into a fist and then unfurling them, Regina’s hand only inches from her own. 

 

“Exhausted,” Regina admits. “I hope Rumpelstiltskin is similarly drained, because I’m in no mood for a rematch tonight.”

 

Emma opens her mouth to reply, a thousand questions vying to be first (and she supposes Henry has been the same all day, so it’s no wonder Regina looks tired) but just then Doc steps up onto the ramshackle stage and calls the group to attention. 

 

“We lost good friends today,” he begins. Emma doesn’t hear whatever he says next, because she’s too preoccupied with the feeling of Regina’s fingers wrapping around her own.

 

“For show,” Regina whispers pointedly, off Emma’s incredulous look. 

 

***

 

Emma’s dressed for bed, in the shorts and tank top she calls pajamas, when Henry comes knocking on the bedroom door.

 

“Hey kid,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting for him to join her. “How you holding up?”

 

“Fine, I think,” he mutters, fidgeting with the Iron Man figure he’s carrying in one hand. He sits on the bed, not looking up at Emma. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Emma asks. 

 

“Because I spent all day with my mom,” Henry replies, pulling Iron Man’s arms up and down at a rate that would break any real bones. “And I didn’t know if that was part of Operation Cobra II, really.”

 

“Did you want to be with her?” Emma presses.

 

“Yeah,” Henry says, peeking up from under his bangs. “I guess I did.”

 

“Then it was the right thing to do,” Emma says, inviting no argument. “And of course I’m not mad, Henry. She’s your mom.”

 

“She wasn’t evil to me, either,” Henry says, falling back against the mattress, letting Iron Man fall to one side. Emma casts a nervous glance at the open door, but there’s no sign of Regina to overhear. “We talked about Archie, and what happens when someone dies.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma says, pulling at the hem of her shorts. “What did she tell you?”

 

“Stuff,” Henry hedges a little. “She talked about the guy she loved--Daniel--and her dad. It was kind of... weird?”

 

“Everything’s pretty weird lately,” Emma admits. “I’m here for you Henry, but she is too.”

 

“Do you think Mr. Gold is gonna try again?” Henry’s childish features look so much older in that moment. It’s not fear, exactly, but that awareness he has about things he should never have to deal with. Emma knows she’s carried those same shadows in her face for years, and it breaks her heart that despite everything his new life gave Henry, he couldn’t avoid that. 

 

There are footsteps in the hallway then.

 

“I don’t know what Gold is gonna do next,” Emma tells him, brushing hair from his face. It’s still stunning that these gestures come naturally to her, that her hands can act without any kind of instruction. “But we’ll keep you safe, kid.”

 

“Of course we will,” Regina says from the doorway. “Don’t worry about him, Henry. I told you earlier, he’ll need time to recover. And we’ll have a plan by then.”

 

“You sure?” Henry asks, propping himself up on his elbows. 

 

“Aren’t I always?” Regina demands, hands on hips. She looks good, still in her black slacks and white blouse from earlier. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she stares Henry down, and he seems to accept her point with a shrug. “Speaking of me being right,” Regina continues. “I believe it’s already past your bedtime, young man.”

 

“You know,” Henry says, turning to Emma with a solemn expression. “You’d think a magical war would cut me some slack on the whole bedtime thing.”

 

Emma can’t help it, she laughs out loud at his indignation.

 

“Bed, kid,” she follows up. “You should take the sleep wherever you can.”

 

“Aw, come on, Emma,” Henry pleads. “What happened to you being good cop?”

 

“I’m still Storybrooke’s only cop,” Emma points out. “And by the power vested in me, I say get your butt to bed.”

 

“Fine,” Henry sighs with his usual infusion of drama. “But neither of you get a hug now.”

 

“We’ll live with the disappointment,” Regina chimes in. Henry darts towards the door, but at the last minute turns to hug Regina around the waist. He slumps back across to the bed and throws his skinny arms around Emma’s neck, bumping her square on the shoulder with his action figure, but she lets it slide. 

 

“Goodnight, Henry,” Regina says firmly, and this time she walks behind him and lingers in the doorway until he’s safely in his own room with the door closed. “You don’t think we should...”

 

“What? Invite him in to sleep with us?” Emma asks. “He’s eleven years old.”

 

“I know,” Regina sighs. “I just... you never got to experience that.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, feeling a little overwhelmed at Regina actually making some kind of gesture. “But hey, I missed out on changing diapers, too. So it balances out.”

 

“I’m going to shower,” Regina says, reaching for a clean towel. There’s something just a little different about her when she walks away.

 

***

 

Emma is flicking impatiently through a battered paperback copy of _The Da Vinci Code_ when Regina comes back into the room. Emma might not be the world’s biggest reader, but she’s pretty sure that three chapters in she wants to throttle this asshole professor, maybe throw him off the Eiffel Tower for good measure. 

 

“The movie was better,” Regina says, unwrapping the towel around her hair. “Although that’s not saying much.”

 

Any smartass comment Emma might come up with dies on her lips as she sees that Regina didn’t change in the bathroom. No, she’s still wrapped in a towel and reaching for her silk pajamas (some ‘necessities’ she wouldn’t leave home without) ready to change right there in front of Emma.

 

“Uh,” Emma manages to grunt. “Did you need me to... you know, avert my eyes?”

 

“Honestly, Miss Swan,” Regina says, rolling her eyes. “You manhandled me this morning while I was hardly dressed. You’re really going to fake modesty now?”

 

“I can give you privacy, if you want,” Emma says, thinking about how Snow has uncovered the lie, and wondering why she didn’t tell Regina that right away.

 

“We’re stuck like this,” Regina says, slipping one arm into her pajama top. The towel is still in place, but Emma can’t help staring. She’s waiting for it to drop like the ball in Times Square on New Year’s. Maybe she should start a damn countdown. “So I don’t see the point in being overly formal.”

 

And then the towel goes, in a simple flick of Regina’s fingers. Emma’s mouth goes dry.

 

***


	4. Part Three

Emma understands now why Regina walks with so much confidence.   
  
  
The woman is freaking gorgeous, even without her designer suits and bespoke tailoring. It takes a hell of a lot of effort to look away, but Emma forces herself to stare at the pages in front of her, even if the boring, badly-written words are pretty much just a blur.   
  
  
  


Regina isn’t intending to put on a show, at least, because before long she’s dressed and slipping into her side of the bed. The nuns haven’t exactly taken a vow of poverty because this double bed has a brand new mattress and the sheets might not be the threadcount that Madam Mayor would have picked out, but they’re a damn sight nicer than some of the ratty blankets Emma’s slept under in her life.

 

The bed, however, suddenly feels like the smallest space known to man. Emma’s clinging to the edge and it feels like trying not to touch the other person while sharing a postage stamp. She suddenly understands the ending of Titanic, and how there probably just wasn’t room for poor, dead Leo.

 

Regina seems to be oblivious. She’s unscrewing the top on one of her many lotion pots, rubbing something rich-smelling into her face and hands. Emma’s routine consists of washing her face and brushing her teeth, so why Regina needs six different bottles on her nightstand is beyond Emma altogether.

 

They are, she realizes, falling into the lazy stereotype of a married couple. It’s the scariest thing Emma’s ever considered and she faced down a dragon just a few weeks ago.

 

Emma gives up on the book, throwing it carelessly on the floor and thumping back against the pillows. The disgruntled sigh from Regina is statement enough of how she feels about Emma’s restless behavior.

 

But then Regina turns around, even as she sits with her legs crossed under her, and offers up the pot of lotion.

 

“What do I want that for?” Emma asks, trying not to be offended at what Regina is implying.

 

“You won’t be young forever, Miss Swan,” Regina scolds.

 

“Says the woman who froze time for twenty-eight years.”

 

“Well, thanks to you my skin-care regimen has never been more important,” Regina grumbles. “I was simply sharing the wealth.”

 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Emma accuses. “Is this just because I carried you down from the roof? Or are you high on Henry love?”

 

Regina shrugs.

 

“Here,” she says a moment later, dipping a fingertip into the face cream and then smearing it onto each of Emma’s cheekbones.

 

“Great,” Emma grouses. “Going for the Tebow look. Very attractive.”

 

“Sometimes I think you’re talking a different language altogether,” Regina sighs. “Now rub it in,” she adds after putting another blob on Emma’s forehead and chin.

 

“What is this stuff anyway?” Emma asks. “Because it’s a little bit too ‘fancy French whore’ for my liking.”

 

“Well, there speaks the voice of experience,” Regina snaps. “Are you going back to your literary education? Or can we switch the lights out?”

 

“I’m done,” Emma says, stifling a yawn. “Thanks for the face goop,” she says as an afterthought.

 

She considers, as the room drops into sudden darkness, that this might be a chance to get to know more about Regina, to take advantage of this thaw in relations that Henry is no doubt to blame for.

 

But the pull of sleep is seductive after such a long day, and a few blinks later Emma is dead to the world.

 

***

 

The knock on the door is timid at first. Emma hears it, but it doesn’t quite rouse her from the warm, happy cocoon she’s wrapped in. Just a few more minutes, she thinks. The grumble from somewhere near her shoulder seems to agree.

 

But the second knock is a lot more forceful, and Emma’s eyes snap open. That’s a police knock, a ‘we have a warrant to search these premises’ knock. She’s heard them often enough, and perfected them herself.

 

She slides out of bed, carefully lifting Regina’s arm from around her waist and--wait, what the  _fuck?_

 

Frozen in place, one foot on the floor and balancing precariously on the edge of the bed, Emma eases Regina’s hand down onto the mattress. Emma holds her breath, but Regina doesn’t stir.

 

The third, excessive round of knocking wakes her though, and Emma stumbles away from the bed in something like fear.

 

“Answer it,” Regina growls. “They’re not going away.”

 

“Right,” Emma replies, her throat scratchy with early morning thirst and hours of sleep. She turns away before Regina can see the panic and work out why Emma is so freaked. If Regina’s some kind of sleep groper, Emma’s going to keep that little secret, that’s for damn sure.

 

Expecting Henry, Emma grabs a towel and wraps it in an improvised skirt. Instead she opens the door to an exhausted, somber Ruby, whose hand is raised to knock again.

 

“Grab your pants, Sheriff,” Ruby says. “Your parents want a word.”

 

***

 

“How’s the missus?” Ruby asks as they trek downstairs.

 

“Don’t...” Emma starts to correct, but she lets it dissolve into a sigh instead. “Well, she’s Regina, so.”

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner,” Ruby teases. “Although I totally knew.”

 

“Did you?” Emma asks as they approach the kitchen. “And I thought we’d been so discreet.” She rolls her eyes, but only because Ruby’s looking the other way.

 

“You two aren’t exactly discreet when it comes to eye-sex,” Ruby says, and she actually giggles a little. It’s such a relief, such a welcome sound that Emma almost wants to hug her for it. If she were the kind of person who did things like hugging, anyway. “And it’s fun, having something else to focus on, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma concedes. She can’t exactly grudge anyone some harmless distraction. “How are you doing with... all this? We haven’t had much time to hang out lately, I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, you know,” Ruby says with a shrug. “Some days are better than others. I just... it’s silly.”

 

“What is?” Emma presses.

 

“Sometimes I think Regina did me a big favor, that’s all. Some things I really wish I didn’t remember,” Ruby answers, but then they’re in the kitchen and Emma’s parents are waiting with stern expressions.

 

“Morning,” Emma tries to sound firm, and in control, but it mostly comes out as tired. “What is it now?”

 

***

 

This must be how it felt to be a rebellious teenager, Emma thinks. She personally skipped rebellious and went straight to felonious, because when her foster parents didn’t give a damn about her the police certainly did.

 

“No,” she says for the tenth time, and it’s gone from bored to downright surly. “This is a crappy idea.”

 

“Emma,” James says, from where he’s pacing back and forth in front of the giant metal fridge. “With all due respect, you don’t have the expertise--”

 

“To what? Lose?” Emma snaps. “Because last time you guys tried to fight a magical war, you ended up cursed for three decades and I got a free trip to freakin’ Narnia.”

 

“Emma,” Snow cautions. “You have to listen to us.”

 

“There’s a reason,” Emma counters. “That you asked me without Regina. You know she’ll laugh in your faces, don’t you?”

 

“What will I be laughing about?” Regina asks from the doorway. In the forty minutes since Emma left their bed, Regina has put herself together in that classy way she has. Months ago that effortless perfection drove Emma insane; this morning, she finds it comforting. Even in linen pants and an off-the-shoulder sweater that would look ridiculous on anyone else, Regina looks the most battle-ready of all of them.

 

“Tell her,” Emma says, storming across the kitchen to the back corridor. “And see how far you get.”

 

***

 

Emma considers taking her anger for a walk through the gardens, but two minutes in the spitting rain has her hurrying back towards one of the convent’s many side entrances. She pulls the door just in time to see her father storming out of the kitchen, Ruby scurrying behind, struggling to keep up even with her mile-long legs.

 

Well, some things don’t change, and Regina’s ability to clear a room is apparently one of them. But, Emma notes, her mother has not exited in a rage yet... which actually is in no way reassuring, because they could be sparring to the death in there amidst the bread and fruit.

 

Emma’s all the way across to the creaking kitchen door when the raised voices stop her in her tracks.

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Snow shouts. “She’s my daughter, Regina; and she’s my best friend.” Emma’s never heard those last two words sound so hollow. She wants to burst in there and shake Snow--Mary Margaret--and tell her that it counts, that it means something.

 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Regina argues. “Your offspring is every bit as hard-headed as you. And selfish, with it.”

 

“Saving your life is selfish?” Snow scoffs. Emma’s leaning against the door now, listening through the crack as the volume of their voices drops. “Without Emma you would be strung up in the town square by now.”

 

“Some would have called that a mercy,” Regina snaps.

 

“Poor Regina,” Snow is mocking now. “After all you’ve done, are you really going to stand there and claim to have suffered more than anyone else? I want so badly to forgive you, but you make it impossible.”

 

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” Regina spits. “Don’t insult me with it.”

 

“The fact remains,” Snow continues as if Regina hadn’t spoken. “That my daughter is risking her life to protect you with a fake relationship. If the others find out, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold them back.”

 

“She didn’t have to,” Regina just sounds exhausted now. “I’m... grateful for the extra time with Henry.”

 

“He still loves you,” Snow says, sadly. “And despite everything, I know you love him. As much as you’re capable of, anyway. But then, you always wanted children.”

 

“Don’t,” Regina hits, or throws something then, in a clatter of metal against brick that gives Emma a cue to enter.

 

“Hey, you two,” Emma says nervously. “How did the strategy talk go?”

 

“Regina is refusing to help us,” Snow says immediately. “And it would be too dangerous to proceed without that protection. So we’ll wait here, but only for now.”

 

“It’s a crappy idea,” Emma reminds Snow. “We don’t even know where Gold is hiding, so trying to rush him is just going to end in more bloodshed.”

 

“We can’t sit here indefinitely,” Snow cautions. “He’s obviously going to come back. And Regina is just one witch, after all. Rumpelstiltskin has been planning this for a long time.”

 

“I don’t think he has,” Regina cuts in. “I mean, he wants us to think that. But before the curse broke, he was talking about taking a trip. He came to this world for a reason, and it’s not one he ever confided in me.”

 

“And he just waited for you to someday create the one curse that would bring us here?” Snow is incredulous, gripping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled fashion that says it’s the only thing keeping her from launching herself at Regina.

 

“Oh, my dear, naïve Snow White,” Regina says, the cruelty lighting up her face as she gets to realign everyone’s world again, even just a little bit. “I simply cast the curse; I didn’t create it.”

 

***

 

Emma isn’t careful with the antiseptic wipe as she draws it over Regina’s split eyebrow; they’re going to have almost matching scars, Emma realizes.

 

“Ow!” Regina protests. “I could heal this with magic, you know.”

 

“You need to save that for bigger problems,” Emma warns. “Now sit still. I’m going to get some ice for the swelling.”

 

“Fine,” Regina says, still sulking. “If you see your mother, remind her I owe her a considerable smack.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Emma sighs, setting off in search of ice.

 

***

 

“Hey, kid,” Emma greets Henry as she roots around in the chest freezer. “You want a popsicle?”

 

“Am I allowed one?” Henry asks. “Cool. Grape, please.”

 

Emma tosses him one from the box and retrieves a small bag of ice for her own first aid mission. How she got roped into tending Regina’s wounds is just not worth thinking about. Emma still can’t decide if she should have been cheering Snow White on or holding her back.

 

“Is my mom okay?” Henry pipes up, his lips already stained purple.

 

“That,” Emma hedges. “Is a complicated question.”

 

“Yeah,” Henry sighs, and his little face has an expression that’s far too old for him. “I just wish she was easier, sometimes. Like, other people would have said sorry. Or tried to make people forgive her.”

 

“Henry,” Emma warns. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

 

“I know,” Henry replies. “But I think I want to try. To forgive her, I mean. Don’t you?”

 

Emma opens her mouth to answer him, but words fail as she realizes, staring at the improvised ice pack in her hand, that she already has.

 

***

 

It’s her father who comes to find her, later.

 

The ice was all but thrown in Regina’s direction before Emma grabbed her sneakers and made a beeline for the gym they’ve set up in the basement. She expects to find it busy, people working out their grief and frustration, but the only other occupant is Frederick, earbuds in place as he runs miles on the battered, bulky treadmill. They exchange half-hearted waves out of habit, but Emma is in no mood for small talk.

 

The cross-trainer bears the brunt of her frustration for a while, and after she slugs down some lukewarm water from the cooler, Emma roots around in the cabinets to find strapping for her hands. Frederick is gone by the time she’s throwing some warm-up jabs, so Emma takes the opportunity to crank up the volume on her own iPod the rest of the way. It’s why she doesn’t hear James coming when she starts really swinging. Her shoulders are popping with the exertion, and the sweat is running down her face with more force than the crappy showers upstairs.

 

It hurts. Her arms are vibrating with every dull contact and still she keeps punching. Her fists feel numb and so does her mind at long, long last when the tap on her shoulder comes.

 

She whirls around, but James steps back just far enough to avoid her swinging left.

 

“Dad!” She yells in her shock, fumbling with her earbuds. “Christ, what were you doing?”

 

But he’s smiling at her in that lopsided, nearly dopey way she recognizes from the mirror. She nearly knocked his block off and he’s smiling at her like she just handed him first baseline seats at Fenway. Oh. Right.

 

The ‘Dad’ thing. Well, that’s done now.

 

“I, uh,” he recovers, just about, tugging at the neck of his not very regal sweatshirt. “I heard you were down here and I wanted to talk.”

 

“I still think it’s a stupid plan,” Emma cuts him off. “So unless you want to sort it out over ten rounds...”

 

James holds his hands up in mock surrender. “You may be right,” he concedes. “But we need to do something. People need a cause to rally around, not to sit here in fear.”

 

“They need to feel like soldiers,” Emma concludes. “Not victims.”

 

“Exactly,” James agrees, giving her another face-splitting smile. Emma feels grubby in front of him, having sweated through her gray tank top. “Do you think you can... talk to Regina?”

 

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Emma warns. “You know how she is.”

 

“She’s different with you,” James says, his eyes flitting towards the ceiling, distracted by whatever he’s trying not to think about.

 

“I’ll try,” Emma sighs. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

 

***

 

Regina is surprisingly easy to avoid, especially now that Kathryn has warmed up to her again. Emma cleans up and goes about her day, but it’s not until dinner that Regina chooses to make herself available, pressing a hand to her injured eye with much more drama than a simple cut and bruise requires.

 

“How’s the head?” Emma asks, fake concern plastered onto her face. Regina sees through it, exactly as Emma intended.

 

“Fine,” she snaps. “No thanks to the thuggery of your bloodline.”

 

“If I hadn’t tackled you, you would have hit my mother with a skillet,” Emma reminds her.

 

“You always did like spoiling my fun,” Regina grouses, spearing a slice of tomato with her fork.

 

***

 

Perhaps the free flowing wine and beer at dinner is a mistake, Emma realizes too late. Nobody wants to rule the group with an iron fist, and she’s certainly not volunteering, but the supply trips back into Storybrooke seem to have started and ended in the liquor store.

 

There’s some rowdy yelling over the soup, and actual fists being thrown at one table by the time the main meal is served, but it’s subdued before Emma has to revert to her old job. She throws a grateful nod in Frederick’s direction for his getting Grumpy back in line.

 

She’s just asking Henry if he wants more juice when Grumpy breaks away from his table again, approaching the head table on unsteady legs. Emma watches him warily, heavy glass jug in hand. If he wants to yell at her parents, they can probably handle themselves, but Emma’s stomach sinks when he corrects course and veers towards the end where she sits, with Regina and Henry right beside her.

 

“Hey!” He yells. “How come this witch is sitting here with us, eating our food, while our friends are dead? Huh?”

 

“I warned you not to charge at the boundary,” Regina says simply, not looking up from her plate. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she adds, the syrupy sweet tone giving away exactly how much she doesn’t mean it.

 

Grumpy loses it then, charging at Regina. Emma barely has time to put the jug down before stepping in to intercept. She has him pinned on the floor in three moves, and it takes a lot of willpower not to smack him around a bit once he’s there.

 

“Let it go!” She orders. “Without her we’d all be dead by now, okay?”

 

“She’s the enemy!” Grumpy barks from where his head is pressed against the floor. “How do you know she’s not working with Rumpelstiltskin?”

 

“He left my son to die,” Regina says, standing now and leaning over Emma. “And as your Queen will no doubt tell you eventually, he created the curse that brought us here. I have no intention of working with him ever again.”

 

There are gasps and murmurs around the room at that. Emma doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but she braces for the next attack regardless.

 

“You’re evil, lady!” Grumpy yells, undeterred. Emma presses down on his kidneys just a little bit harder with her knee.

 

“Yes,” Regina says, and Emma is surprised at how sad it sounds. “But that’s hardly news, is it?”

 

It’s only when Regina strides out that the tide of murmurs finally breaks. Emma lets go of Grumpy, and lets the noise wash over her.

 

***

 

Sleep won’t come, for whatever reason, and not being able to kick and thrash at the sheets has Emma feeling trapped. There’s no reason, really, why she can’t now go and find a spare room to crash in, it’s not as if anyone is patrolling the sleeping arrangements at night.

 

“What?” Regina snaps, and that startles Emma. The regular, steady breathing suggested Regina had already fallen asleep. Emma rolls onto her back, turning her head just enough to see dark eyes watching her in the dim light of the early hours.

 

“Can’t sleep,” Emma mumbles, squeezing her eyes closed.

 

“Did you take classes in stating the obvious, or is it all natural ability?” Regina huffs, lying on her side now, facing Emma fully. Regina grabs at her pillow, folding it and mashing it under her face to get comfortable.

 

“You’re so mean,” Emma sighs. “Don’t you get tired of being this mean?”

 

“Do you get tired of walking like a linebacker?” Regina counters. “Or dressing like a thrift shop exploded in your closet? No. We can’t help who we are, dear.”

 

“You’re not always a bitch,” Emma argues. “Look at how you are with Henry. Even--occasionally--with me, if I’m saving your life or something.”

 

“A temporary lapse,” Regina says, but she sounds tired again.

 

“You really didn’t create the curse?” Emma asks suddenly.

 

“I cast it,” Regina says angrily. “I killed the only person I had left--the only person I still loved--just to enact it. Why does everyone care so much about who created it?”

 

“Because it’s two different things,” Emma explains. “It’s one thing to pick up a gun because it’s lying right there. It’s another to go buy the gun and make a plan to use it.”

 

“I planned,” Regina says. “I schemed, and I plotted. You’re not going to explain me away with some pop psychology you picked up on  _Oprah_ , Miss Swan.”

 

“Why can’t you call me Emma?” Emma seizes on the chance to ask. “You can say it when you talk about me to Henry, why not to my face?”

 

“I hate your name,” Regina says after a long moment. She rolls away then, facing the window again.

 

“Why?” Emma asks in a whisper, unable to drop it. When Regina stays silent, Emma rolls onto her side, reaching out to tap Regina on the shoulder. “Why?” She repeats.

 

“You haven’t worked it out?” Regina replies, her voice strained. “Didn’t you ask your mother who she named you for?”

 

“I’m named after someone?” Emma is surprised at the information, though she shouldn’t be. After all, isn’t Henry named after Regina’s own father? “Wait, Snow named me after... who, her mom?”

 

“Yes,” Regina says. “You’re named after the late Queen Emma. The fairest in all the land. Et cetera. You can say many things about Snow White, but she certainly loved her mother.”

 

“And you’re... what? Jealous?” Emma blurts out before she can finish thinking it through.

 

“Jealous?” Regina’s voice actually jumps an octave in sheer indignation. She turns back towards Emma, their faces only inches apart now. “How  _dare_  you? Do you know how often I had to hear your fucking name? Oh, not just around the palace. Not muttered by my husband in his sleep, no. But while he was fucking me,  _Emma_. He’d climb on top of me, the bride he bought to raise his daughter, and he’d call out her name while I was trapped underneath him.”

 

The tears are streaming from Regina’s eyes now, sliding down towards the mattress and splashing off the bridge of her nose. The tears seem more angry than sad, but Emma is horrified.

 

“Regina, I’m... I’m sorry,” Emma gasps. She feels sickened, dark memories of her own roaring back, pushing at the edges of her consciousness even as she tries to shake them off. “Nobody should go through that.”

 

“Shove your pity,” Regina gasps, trying to get her tears back under control. “I don’t need it. Besides, it only proved what my mother always told me: love is weakness.”

 

“That can’t be true,” Emma protests. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever really loved anyone--except Henry--but it has to be a good thing. It has to be worth it. Even if it scares the crap outta me.”

 

“Even loving Henry has cost me,” Regina says softly. “And I’ve paid it willingly. But he’s why the curse broke. Wanting him so much in the first place started all of this. You were just the sword-wielding icing on the cake.”

 

“I am pretty good at the sword thing, though,” Emma says, in a vain attempt at lightening the mood. “Who knew, right?”

 

“If we ever get back home,” Regina replies. “You should be careful. That sort of thing has maidens falling at your feet.”

 

“Good to know,” Emma says, suddenly conscious again of Regina’s proximity. It would be so easy, so excusable to touch her.

 

“You really love Henry?” Regina whispers.

 

“I do,” Emma says, without hesitation.

 

“Good,” Regina replies. “That will... make it easier.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asks, dread creeping down her spine as she watches Regina’s eyes close.

 

“Whatever happens,” Regina explains. “This is not sustainable. Someone will uncover the truth. Or decide that killing me is worth risking the wrath of a princess for. And you’ll be all Henry has then.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Emma says quickly. “And for Henry’s sake, I will keep this going as long as we have to. He deserves more than just me. He needs you, Regina.”

 

“You say that now,” Regina argues. “But wars end. And then princesses find true love. Or, at least marry someone for their connections.”

 

“I won’t do that,” Emma hears the pleading in her own voice, feels the tension in her arm from not touching Regina. She gives in, lays one hand on Regina’s arm and squeezes. “I will not do that.”

 

“Emma,” Regina forces herself to say the name, and that does it. It absolutely does it. Whatever this... feeling is that Emma’s been pushing down at the back of her mind for days (maybe longer) finally breaks the dam. She can’t lie here next to this woman and be nothing more than a painful association to her. She has to do something.

 

“Regina,” Emma says, moving her hand along the silk of Regina’s pajama top until she’s skimming her shoulder, until her fingers encounter the bare skin of Regina’s neck. She makes no move to pull away, and so Emma continues, tracing her fingers up over Regina’s jaw until they’re cradling her cheek. “Can I?” Emma asks, because after tonight there’s no way she won’t check first.

 

Regina nods.

 

“Good,” Emma breathes, as she places her lips gently on top of Regina’s. It’s a second or two, a fleeting contact, but the spark is unmistakable. Emma rubs her thumb over Regina’s cheekbone, waiting for a reaction. “Don’t do this because you think you have to,” Emma says softly. “Don’t think it’s part of the deal, okay?”

 

“Always the White Knight,” Regina mocks. “This is what happens in wartime, don’t you know? Tension spills over.”

 

“Regina?” Emma says.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma groans.

 

Regina, for once, does exactly as she’s told.


	5. Part Four

Regina is a hesitant kisser, at first, and that surprises Emma when she considers the bossy confidence Regina approaches everything else with.   
  
“C’mere,” Emma says, propping herself up on one elbow and then pulling Regina up to a sitting position with her. “This might make it a bit easier.”   
  
  
“Since when are you interested in easier?” Regina teases, but this time she’s the one pressing her palm against the back of Emma’s neck, drawing her into a deeper kiss that leaves them both breathless.   
  
  


  


Emma is struggling to tamp down the arousal that’s coursing through her, her nipples already hard without a single touch and her head already swimming. She’s torn between the urge to throw Regina down and make her scream and this new, curious urge to take her time and explore every last inch. There’s the unspoken threat in the air that this is probably a one-time deal, and like someone finding an oasis in the desert, Emma isn’t sure she’ll be able to pace herself.

 

It seems Regina is fighting a similar battle, because her hands are already slipping beneath the washed-out cotton of Emma’s tank top, perfectly soft against Emma’s already overheated skin.

 

“Oh,” Regina says softly. She bites down on her lip as she watches her own hands travel up to cup Emma’s breasts beneath the cotton. “How did we get to this?”

 

“Who cares?” Emma replies, seizing the initiative and latching her mouth onto the hollow at the base of Regina’s throat. It provokes the happy hiss that Emma hoped for, and she draws out more reaction with a flash of teeth and the soothing pressure of her tongue. It only takes a few, fumbling seconds to get rid of Regina’s top, and when faced with more bare skin, Emma finds herself greedy and just a little frantic.

 

Regina’s touch is unrelenting, too. She flicks and then pulls on Emma’s nipples, making her cry out against Regina’s skin. That edge they both have, that familiarity with pain is creeping in, and Emma’s not surprised to feel herself getting even wetter at the thought. When her mouth reaches Regina’s nipple she’s careful to give as good as she gets, nipping with teeth and sucking hard enough to make Regina moan in that stuttering, sighing way that’s already driving Emma crazy.

 

The rest of their clothing is tugged off, limbs tangling as they press together, seeking out more kisses, hands stroking every newly exposed inch of skin.

 

“I want--” Regina says, over and over. Unable or unwilling to finish the thought, she’s the most gorgeous thing Emma has ever seen with her face flushed, eyes closed and head tilted back in invitation. “I want,” she repeats, and Emma kisses the end of the sentence against her lips.

 

It doesn’t take much to have Regina straddling Emma’s crossed legs so they’re facing each other, and Regina wraps her arms around Emma’s neck in agreement at the new position. Regina’s legs are spread, an invitation Emma can’t resist as she runs one testing finger between Regina’s thighs, groaning at the slickness she encounters.

 

“You do want this,” Emma murmurs, her mouth charting a course over Regina’s breasts again. “You want me,” she adds, and any other time it might sound mocking, even cruel. But they’re being quiet here, in their convent room (and wouldn’t the nuns Emma hated for three years in upstate New York get a kick out of  _that_ ) and Emma doesn’t want to break anymore than has already been broken.

 

“Yes,” Regina whispers against Emma’s forehead, and that’s enough. Emma responds by sliding two fingers inside and Regina sounds like she might melt when she sighs in something like relief.

 

Using her thighs for leverage and her left hand to steady Regina, Emma starts working those fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, relishing every little moan and the way Regina rocks herself into every touch. They kiss, lazily, and Emma moves that steadying hand to pluck each of Regina’s nipples in turn, increasing the pitch of her excited sighs and the pace of her hips as she thrusts down on Emma’s fingers.

 

A third finger is a formality, and Regina’s practically sobbing by the time Emma starts circling her thumb against Regina’s clit. It would be hell on her wrist to keep this up too long, but Regina’s already starting to clench around Emma’s fingers and she can’t help wondering how long it’s been since Regina had some meaningful kind of release. Emma’s been taking care of basic needs in the shower every few days, but it strikes her that Regina doesn’t seem the type; then again, Regina didn’t seem the type to get fucked while straddling Emma’s lap in the dark, so maybe Emma doesn’t know the first thing about it. Maybe it’s safer that she doesn’t.

 

“Emma,” Regina almost chokes on the word, the last thing she says before coming around Emma’s hand, riding out every last second before slumping. With her head on Emma’s shoulder, Regina presses fluttering, distracted kisses against the column of Emma’s neck. “Mmm,” is her only comment, but Emma can feel the way that the tension has seeped out of Regina’s body, their warm, damp skin pressed against each other as Regina comes back to herself.

 

“You’re okay?” Emma asks, still a little terrified of all the damage they brought into the room. Regina kisses Emma soundly on the mouth in response, bolder with her tongue now as she explores and teases. Gradually, Regina wriggles her way out of Emma’s lap, moving around behind her and pulling Emma’s hair aside to lavish the attention of lips and tongue on the back of Emma’s neck and the lines of her shoulders.

 

Emma’s never mentioned that her back is especially sensitive, but Regina’s already tracing patterns with her fingertips that set Emma’s nerve endings crackling, and when she repeats the trick with her nails, Emma can’t help the gasp that escapes her. There’s some defiant streak left from months of warring with Regina, a part of Emma that wants to make Regina really fucking  _work_  for it, but Emma’s already as wet as a river between her legs, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be long before Regina discovers that for herself.

 

Regina’s scraping her nails over Emma’s ass now, and sure enough slides her fingers over Emma’s cunt just moments later.

 

“Well,” Regina says, and Emma can see the goddamned smirk without even looking around. “Seems I’m not the only one who wants something.” She strokes her fingers along Emma’s slit with a teasing pressure, and Emma tilts back into her touch without thinking twice about it.

 

“Don’t think you can make me beg,” Emma says, in a final attempt at defiance.

 

“Don’t give me ideas,” Regina warns, withdrawing her hand. But a moment later Emma hears a sucking sound and turns to see Regina licking the taste of Emma from her fingers, eyes closed in apparent enjoyment.

 

Oh, hell.

 

Emma is about to shove Regina down on the mattress and have her way with her all over again, but Regina reacts first. She presses herself against Emma’s back once more, wrapping an arm around Emma’s chest to hold her in place. Emma arches her neck, turning enough to kiss Regina who greets her with open-mouthed kisses that are just shallow enough to leave Emma closer to begging than she wants to be. Meanwhile, Regina’s other hand is stroking down over Emma’s belly, skimming the neat strip of curls until two fingertips are rubbing gently on Emma’s clit.

 

Regina relinquishes Emma’s mouth, but she’s sucking and biting on Emma’s shoulder as her fingers work. Regina’s other hand is tangled in Emma’s hair now, tipping her head back to get access to her neck, and Emma lets her own hands play with her nipples until she’s shuddering under the combined touches and coming with a cry that she doesn’t expect to be so loud.

 

She leans back against Regina, pleasantly surprised when Regina wraps both arms around her in something like a hug. It doesn’t last though, because the buzz starts to wear off and Emma starts to freak out quietly at the intimacy of it. This is not what she signed up for, this is not what they’re supposed to be.

 

With not very much elegance, Emma shuffles out of Regina’s embrace and collapses on the wrong side of the bed, mashing her face into Regina’s pillow.

 

“Tired,” she mumbles, hoping Regina can make out the word, but her sigh certainly suggests that she does.

 

They don’t say goodnight, but Regina takes her place on what used to be Emma’s side of the bed and pulls the sheets up over both of them.

 

***

 

Emma wakes at the first hint of sunrise through the improperly closed curtains. When she squints towards the window, she sees Regina sitting on the wide sill, arms wrapped around her knees.

 

Maybe the right thing to do is to say something, to ask if Regina’s alright. But Emma’s always been a reluctant hero, and right now she has no idea how to help.

 

She closes her eyes and tries not to call herself a coward.

 

***

 

Emma holds her breath and waits for awkward. She shouldn’t have rushed out of their room this morning, but Regina seemed intent on sleeping in and Emma’s stomach was already growling in protest. She can’t even convince herself of that, given how many meals she’s skipped in her life: willingly or not.

 

So she scoops more cereal into her mouth and waits for Regina to ignore her.

 

Instead, Regina takes the seat next to Emma and smiles broadly across the table at Henry. She seems relaxed, in a way Emma would never have expected.

 

“Pass the honey?” Regina asks, and Emma realizes that the jar is right by her wrist. She hands it over, not meeting Regina’s eye when she does.

 

“You know,” Regina leans in to whisper. “I never had you pegged for the shy type.”

 

“I’m not!” Emma says, just the hint of a pout creeping in. “I just wasn’t sure if we--”

 

“What is  _up_  with you two?” Henry pipes up. “You’re worse than Grace and Gretel, whispering all the time.”

 

“Eat your breakfast, kid,” Emma snaps, before softening it a little with a smile. “And not every conversation is for your ears, okay?”

 

“I think I liked it better when you two hated each other,” Henry grumbles.

 

Regina’s squeezes Emma’s thigh beneath the table at that, and she finds herself letting go of the restlessness that’s been plaguing her all morning. She doesn’t need to run, Emma tells herself. She hasn’t screwed it all up by sleeping with someone. Regina’s not freaking out or openly plotting Emma’s downfall, and in fact she seems almost... happy.

 

Despite the fact that in the past month Emma has had to deal with fairytales being real, discovering that she’s a secret princess and that one of her best friend’s turns into a wolf instead of just getting cramps every month, this might actually be the weirdest revelation of all.

 

She squeezes Regina’s hand where it’s resting on Emma’s thigh, and exhales.

 

***

 

Regina adapts--quickly--and she just expects Emma to come along for the ride. They don’t talk about what it means, or give a name to what’s happened between them, they just carry on in much the same way as they have since Regina got there, right down to the sniping and pointless arguments.

 

If Regina was reluctant to put her hands on Emma when it was all for show, that has evaporated in the face of what they’re now doing in bed every night. (And in the orchard, and in the showers, and hey, morning and afternoon are perfectly valid times too, it turns out). Emma’s just glad that Henry is mostly self-sufficient and that there’s a small army of people to look out for him when his mothers are otherwise engaged.

 

James looks away, embarrassed, every time Regina wraps an arm around Emma’s waist or takes her hand at dinner. Snow watches, her eyes dancing with curiosity, and Emma makes a point of never being cornered alone. Whatever is happening she doesn’t want to actually discuss it with anyone, least of all her best friend-turned-mom.

 

It’s supposed to be Emma and Regina’s turn to make dinner, but Regina gleefully enchants the knives and pots to cook for them, giving Emma the trippiest Beauty & the Beast flashback she’s ever experienced. That leaves an hour alone in an otherwise empty kitchen, and Emma does not have the restraint to stop herself reacting to Regina licking cream from her fingertip.

 

“This is probably in violation of some health codes,” Emma mutters as Regina lifts her onto the worktop, tugging Emma’s jeans down in the process. Any other sarcastic comments short-circuit at the feeling of Regina’s mouth against her, tongue swirling against wet flesh as Emma clutches at the edge of the counter and Regina’s hair in a desperate bid not to completely lose her mind.

 

Emma comes the first time from the sensation of what Regina’s doing to her, but she suspects the second is more about the way Regina moans against Emma’s cunt, giving away that she’s been fingering herself this whole time. They climax almost in tandem, then, and Emma thinks that maybe she’s going to pass out.

 

They’re kissing again, and Emma has Regina’s gray dress unzipped, when Snow White walks in on them. Emma blushes redder than the pasta sauce that’s cooking on the stove, and fumbles for some kind of apology. Her mother stares at Emma and Regina in open-mouthed shock, before turning and practically running back out of the kitchen.

 

***

 

“Do we need to talk?” Emma asks, when she next bumps into Snow. Emma says it while staring at the floor and wondering if it’s not too late to flee to Boston and beyond, but she makes the effort anyway.

 

“No,” Snow says quite firmly. “It’s your life, Emma.”

 

“Right,” Emma says, trying to sound for a second like she knows what the hell she’s doing. “Thanks.”

 

“Emma?” Snow calls out as they go their separate ways.

 

“Yeah?” Emma sighs, feeling like the reprimanded teenager again.

 

“Be careful,” Snow warns, echoing the words she said weeks ago. Emma doesn’t have the heart to tell her that--in every way that matters--it’s way too late for careful.

 

***

 

“You’re taking the wrong approach!” Regina snaps, slamming her fist on the table to make the point. Granny and Grumpy tense, ready to subdue Regina if she acts out, but Emma’s hand on her shoulder is enough to calm her. “Speak to your parents,” Regina hisses. “I am tired of wasting my breath.”

 

“Snow, James,” Emma begins. “What Regina is saying makes sense. Shouldn’t we focus on getting out of Storybrooke instead of picking a fight with the one guy we probably can’t take down?”

 

“If we leave Storybrooke, it will be for the Enchanted Forest,” Snow says firmly. “And we will not be safe to do that until--”

 

“Wait a minute!” Jefferson is the one to speak up from the benches. Emma still tenses at the sight of him, and she doesn’t miss the cruel smile that tugs at the corners of Regina’s mouth. “Who says we want to go back there?” He’s holding Grace’s hand as he speaks, and she looks every bit as determined as he does.

 

“Of course we have to go back,” James says, sounding every bit the King for once. “It’s our home.”

 

“I think the point Jefferson is making,” Regina interrupts. “Is that not everyone has such a  _charmed_ life in the Enchanted Forest. I’m in no hurry to return there.”

 

Emma tries (and temporarily fails) to look stunned at the news. Ruby catches her eye across the table, and Emma forces herself to look down. Even now, she doesn’t feel comfortable with being known.

 

“The Queen is right,” Frederick chimes in next. “I have no desire to return to a world where I don’t have the status to marry the woman I love.”

 

“Obviously, there would be changes,” Snow tries to placate them. “We’ve all learned something from being in this world.”

 

“Like your kid growing up to be a dyke?” Grumpy says, finally putting his glass down long enough to comment. The room falls silent at the outburst, and Emma can barely look at Snow, the betrayal on her face is so obvious, so horrible.

 

“I suggest you keep your counsel,” James says in a low, dangerous voice. “You’ve been a great friend to us, but that does not permit this--”

 

“What? We risked our lives to get you two together. To save your kid. And then we wake up to discover she’s sleeping with the enemy?” Grumpy gets to his feet, swaying again. Emma feels a pang of sympathy in the midst of her familiar red mist. It’s taking every last scrap of willpower not to walk right over there and kick his ass.

 

“Enough!” Snow has recovered now. “Go upstairs and sleep it off. Now!”

 

“I don’t know what happened to you, sister,” Grumpy says, staring her down. “But I remember all too well when you were ready to put a poison arrow through that bitch’s heart.”

 

There’s a ripple around the room at that, apparently Emma isn’t the only one who doesn’t know the whole story. Regina stiffens beside her, and Emma takes her hand on sheer instinct.

 

“I think we should take a break,” James says, not waiting for argument. “We’ll revisit this tomorrow, about going back to the Enchanted Forest.”

 

Emma looks around assembled faces, and sees a lot of discontent coming back at her.

 

***

 

It takes another three days, but they wake up on Saturday to discover a group has packed up and fled in the night. Snow takes it personally, wringing her hands as they work out the missing faces.

 

Emma hangs back in the corner, watching Regina explain something quietly to Henry. Emma’s relieved when Ruby comes charging into the room, red coat draped on her shoulders.

 

“You didn’t go,” Emma says, pulling Ruby into a hug that surprises both of them.

 

“Of course not,” Ruby says. “Snow’s almost as much my family as she is yours.”

 

***

 

It’s raining as they lie in bed, Regina’s fingers running restlessly through Emma’s hair. It would be peaceful, maybe, with someone else, but Emma is on guard. Even sex hasn’t done much to reduce the tension, though at one point Emma was concerned Regina might fuck her through the mattress.

 

“I was thinking,” Emma says, after a while. “I don’t know if I want to go back, either.”

 

“We can’t stay like this forever,” Regina counters, and Emma assumes that doesn’t just refer to being naked and a little sweaty in the middle of the afternoon. “Something has to change.”

 

“I suppose so,” Emma says. “I hate waiting.”

 

Regina presses an absent-minded kiss to the top of her head.

 

“Sometimes, that’s all there is,” Regina says, but it doesn’t sound as sad as it might.

 

 

***

Something else, inevitably, has to go wrong.

 

***

 

Regina’s back in bed for the night when the building shakes. Emma stumbles to her feet at the first booming noise, grabbing her gun even before her eyes are open. She’s lived through hurricanes, felt an earthquake beneath her feet, but this is somehow worse. It feels like the air itself is breaking apart, and she reaches for Regina on blind instinct as they stumble towards the bedroom door.

 

“Henry!” Regina shouts, but Emma is already pulling them both towards his door. The doorknob is icy cold beneath her palm, so Emma lets go and kicks the door open instead.

 

There’s a flash. There’s another booming sound that doesn’t quite cover a scream.

 

They’re too late.

 

***

 

Emma shakes her head, but it won’t stop the ringing in her ears. She can feel a hand on her upper arm--Ruby is there, saying something Emma can’t hear--and she looks down to see that the pocket of her shorts has been torn all the way down. They’re her favorite shorts, if she had to pick a favorite, and now they’re ruined.

 

The gray cotton is in Regina’s hand, so she must have torn the fabric. Emma wants to be angry about that, but she can’t quite make herself say it.

 

Regina shrieks, from where she’s kneeling on the floor, and Emma feels the world come rushing back in.

 

***

 

“Emma! Emma!” There’s more than one voice calling to her, but she’s crouching down to wrap her arms around Regina. Regina is shaking so hard Emma feels herself vibrating from even the slightest contact, so she hugs Regina a little closer. Even though it’s awkward, and Emma doesn’t really know what she’s doing, it seems to work at least a little.

 

“Henry,” Regina whispers against Emma’s chest. “Henry.”

 

“Where is he?” Emma asks, and she doesn’t recognize her own voice. “What happened?” She’s looking at the hole where the wall used to be, taking in the shattered glass and the purple smoke rising from the few remaining bricks. Henry’s bed is snapped in two, its middle sinking towards the floor in a disjointed ‘m’ shape. Emma doesn’t understand why there are sheets, and a comic book, but no eleven year-old boy.

 

“Emma!” Someone is touching her shoulder, and Emma instinctively wriggles away from the heavy hand. But when she looks up she sees her father standing beside her, his eyes panicked as he surveys the scene, but the set of his jaw is determined in a way that Emma recognizes. “Rumpelstiltskin did this,” he says evenly, finally vocalizing the thoughts that Emma’s shocked brain won’t allow her to put together.

 

She breathes out then.

 

This is a clearly-defined problem; when they know the problem is, then they can solve it. All she needs is for Regina to snap out of it too, to get her thoughts in order and tell them exactly how they’re going to get Henry back. Emma pulls back from Regina, tries to shake her a little, just enough to get her moving.

 

As Regina covers her face with her hands, Emma feels the pity give way to sudden, gut-churning rage.

 

***

 

It’s Snow who pulls Emma away, in the end.

 

James is too stunned by the sudden, slapping, yelling outburst to react. Regina remains on her knees, only now her arms are up over her head, deflecting blows that are no longer landing.

 

 

***

 

“This is her fault,” Emma rages, pacing back and forth in the narrow corridor, pausing only to kick out at the battered, badly-painted baseboards. “What was I thinking? Bringing her here? I might as well have painted a fucking target on Henry’s back.”

 

“Emma,” Snow interrupts, reaching for Emma’s arm, but she shrugs it off. Being touched just amps up the anger, and she can’t make exceptions just because she’s had a mommy for five minutes.

 

“We throw her out, tonight,” Emma orders. “Let her crawl back to her mansion.”

 

“How do we get Henry back?” Ruby asks. “Won’t we need her?”

 

“I’ll get Henry back,” Emma says. “I’ll go to Gold and tell him to see sense. He doesn’t want to hurt me, he wants to hurt Regina.”

 

“Emma, no,” James protests. “That’s a terrible plan.”

 

“It’s not so different to your plan from yesterday,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s the easiest way to hide that her hands are shaking. “And I can handle myself, magic potions or not.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” comes the cool voice from the doorway of the shattered bedroom. Nobody stayed to check on Regina, Emma realizes. Her anger starts the cold slide into something like shame.

 

“Don’t you dare talk to me,” Emma says. She has to stand her ground. This is too important, there’s too much at stake; she can feel shitty about it later. “You don’t get to talk.”

 

“Emma!” Snow is the one to caution her, which stuns everyone in the hallway. “Be reasonable.”

 

“Reasonable?” Emma spits. “You know what’s been going on this whole time. You know what she did to all of us to get back at you. And you’re telling me to... what? Be  _nice_  to her?”

 

“It’s a terrible thing to lose your child,” Snow says, reaching for her husband’s hand. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone; not even Regina.”

 

“You’re too nice for your own good, Snow White,” Emma can feel the nagging sickness in the pit of her stomach that tells her to stop this, that tells her to stop lashing out, but the anger still has her in its grip. This is the rage that made her smash windows in her final foster home the night she ran away, it’s the blind, wordless panic that made her steal a car the night she first experienced false labor with Henry.

 

“Emma,” Regina steps across the hallway now, brushing past Red and James, ignoring the curious look from Snow (she presumably hasn’t heard Regina say that name much either). “I understand,” Regina says calmly. “I’m the only person who does, remember?”

 

Emma tries to think of their talk in the garden a few days ago, tries to think of anything but the fact that she can still taste Regina on her lips and feel the stickiness of what they’ve done against her skin. Regina’s getting closer, and the air is crackling again in that way it does whenever they get close (since before magic, since the first time they met).

 

“You did this,” Emma cries out, but her voice breaks. “You did this,” she’s crying now, her eyes feel like a hundred hot needles are pricking them, and it’s more painful than she thought possible.

 

“No,” Regina says, and she’s close enough now to grab Emma’s wrists, to back her into the pale green wall. “I didn’t do this, Emma. You didn’t do this. We know who did this.”

 

“He did,” Emma says.

 

“Yes,” Regina nods, her eyes darker than Emma ever remembers seeing them, almost completely black now. “And we’re going to kill him for it.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma asks.

 

“Yes,” Regina repeats, and then her hands are on Emma’s face, in her hair and she’s kissing Emma hard on the lips. It’s not even close to the time or the place, but Emma ignores the surprised ‘oh!’s from over by the door and kisses Regina back. She spells out her panic and fear and failure into the motion of her mouth against Regina’s, taking comfort from the warmth of it, of how strong and how alive Regina feels against her.

 

“You don’t get to leave me,” Regina gasps when they part. She’s clutching Emma almost hard enough for it to hurt. “You don’t get to leave me over this, okay? You don’t get to run.”

 

“I’m not running,” Emma promises, stunned at how easy it is to say, at how much she means it. “I’m right here.”

 

Regina relaxes for a second at that, resting her forehead against Emma’s. There’s a stifled sob, and then the Queen’s mask is right back in place. Regina wraps an arm around Emma’s shoulder and turns back to face the other people in the corridor.

 

“I don’t want to hear talk of you assembling an army,” Regina warns. “I won’t risk Henry’s life on your boyish enthusiasm, Charming.”

 

“He’s my grandson!” Charming shouts back at her, instinctively reaching for the sword at his waist. “You’re not Queen anymore, you don’t get to call the shots.”

 

“Snow, control your little puppy,” Regina snaps, and Emma shivers at the coolness of the words.

 

“How is this helping?” Snow sighs, already exasperated. “As Henry’s parents, we will of course defer to  _both_  of you. But you have to know we want to help.”

 

“Red,” Regina says. “Your help, I will need. Will you do it?”

 

“For Henry?” Ruby says. “Of course I will.”

 

“Don’t you want to know what I need?” Regina says, and there’s something like admiration in her voice. Emma supposes she’s not used to people for agreeing to things without some ulterior motive; Emma can understand that, at least.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ruby says. “Emma, are you okay?”

 

“I won’t be until we get our kid back,” Emma says firmly. “And that means we listen to Regina, okay?”

 

“Well said, dear,” Regina says, flexing her arms, causing everyone but Emma to draw back instinctively. “Pack our things - one bag each, essentials only. Red, you should do the same.”

 

“We’re coming with you,” Snow says.

 

“No, you’re not,” Regina replies coolly. “You have people here, and you’re going to take them out to the woods, out to the old well. It’s the only safe place I can think of.”

 

“Emma, Red, get going,” Regina commands. Emma finds herself stumbling back to their room on some kind of auto-pilot. Regina can fill her in as they go. She has to trust something right now, and her gut says Regina is that thing.

 

“What are you doing?” James questions as Emma ducks into the bedroom.

 

“I need to trace the magic,” Regina says. “And then we can begin. You two had better go tend to your subjects.”

 

“Regina?” Snow says, and her tone stops Emma in her tracks. “You get my grandson back, do you hear me?”

 

“He’s my son,” Regina says simply. “What else can I do?”


	6. Part Five

Emma stares at their needlessly tidy bedroom, empty backpack in her hand. She can’t quite make herself go back outside and ask Regina what to take, and the raised voices have already moved off down the corridor anyway.

 

It’s only when she reaches for her phone on the nightstand that Emma is spurred into real action, because the slightly scraped handset is resting on top of one of Henry’s comic books. With the experience born of too many middle-of-the-night escapes, Emma throws some underwear, easily-layered tops and a couple of pairs of pants on the bed, before rooting around in the bottom of the room’s only closet for her second gun and extra ammo, handcuffs and the probably pointless weapons of police nightstick and a couple of switchblades that, well, she’s never quite managed to part with. She dresses in yesterday’s clothes, pulling things on with rough hands that won’t quite stop shaking.

 

The rest is easy enough, and by the time Ruby appears in the doorway with her own small bag, Emma feels like she’s packed about as well as she can, considering. She shoves the comic book under her pillow, even though the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach says she won’t be coming back to this room again.

 

“Hold these,” Emma says as she hands the bags off to Ruby, pushing past her friend to re-enter Henry’s room next door. She tries very hard not to look at the bed, because her earlier sweep confirmed some drops of blood on the blanket. Emma reminds herself to ask Regina if Henry is prone to nosebleeds, and then in the next moment she vows to say nothing at all.

 

Wondering won’t do anyone any good.

 

She looks in the drawers quickly, unearthing Henry’s book that seems somehow essential even though the curse is broken and the stories say nothing about how to defeat their mortal enemy. Henry would want her to bring it, Emma tells herself. She’s walking back out when she spies his Iron Man toy in the corner. It only takes an extra couple of steps to pick it up and jam it in her pocket.

 

She leans against the door jamb, resisting some latent urge to pray; she has no idea what she’d even be praying to. All she wants, in this last moment of quiet, is to get the chance to give Henry back his toy.

 

***

 

“Do you know what Regina wants you to do?” Emma asks Ruby as they stand in a corner of the Great Hall and watch Emma’s parents corral the remaining unhappy citizens into something like order. Subjects, Emma corrects herself. Citizens live in a democracy, not under a Royal Family. She remembers seeing that on the History Channel, once.

 

“I think I do, yeah,” Ruby says, and the way she squares her jaw deters Emma from asking anything else. She’ll know, soon enough.

 

“It’s weird, how everyone just... does what they’re told,” Emma says instead. “That my parents are the ones who get to boss everyone around.”

 

“It’s in their best interests,” Regina says as she appears next to them in a cloud of black smoke.

 

Emma rolls her eyes and hopes nobody noticed how she just squealed in fright. Regina’s already stepping up the special effects, and somehow that comforts Emma. There’s something bigger than her and her Glock on their side, and that’s pretty much the only reason Emma can breathe in and out right now.

 

“Shouldn’t you be saving the magic for later?” Emma asks, resisting the urge to take Regina’s hand.

 

“There’s no time to waste,” Regina answers, looking at the crowd once more. “I need to give them some final instructions. And then we leave.”

 

Regina strides across the room, and Emma scurries to follow, realizing this is her chance to say some kind of goodbye to her family. As she watches Regina part the restless crowd, Emma wonders how there was ever a time she didn’t recognize this woman as a Queen.

 

***

 

Emma thinks she can make it out of there without anyone crying. It doesn’t surprise her though, that James is the first to break.

 

“I’ll be okay,” she murmurs as he hugs her close, Snow forming the other side of the smushed up triangle that the hug becomes. “Dad,” she whispers as she kisses him awkwardly on the cheek. “Mom,” she says, her voice catching as Snow kisses Emma on her cheek in turn.

 

“Find him,” Snow says, squeezing Emma so hard that maybe nobody can breathe. “That’s what we do.”

 

***

 

Ruby falls in step behind Regina and Emma as they march across the damp grass towards the convent gate and the edge of their magical protection. Emma feels the chill in the air through the clothing she threw on carelessly, and wonders how many magical quests begin with a so-called hero wondering if they can stop to add an extra layer.

 

***

 

“Red,” Regina says, and her voice is so kind that Emma wonders for a moment if Henry has somehow appeared. “Have you guessed already?”

 

“I have,” Ruby says, squaring her shoulders and trying very obviously to avoid looking at Emma. “And I understand. It’s okay.”

 

“Wait a minute!” Emma cries, lost already. She can feel the crackle in the air where magic is holding them in, see the deserted street on the other side as though it’s frozen in time. “If this is some kind of human sacrifice--”

 

“No,” Ruby answers. “It’s not like that, Emma.”

 

“I need Red to transform,” Regina starts to explain. “I need a truly magical being to breach the defenses Gold will have in place.”

 

“Transform?” Emma says. “You mean, into a, um...”

 

“Yes,” Regina says. “It’s the only way.”

 

“But it’s not even a full moon,” Emma says, gesturing vainly at the cloudy sky.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruby says firmly. “Where to, Regina?”

 

It’s an act of staggering defiance for Ruby--Emma knows that much at least--to call her former Queen by her first name. Regina flinches, but the small smile she gives Ruby seems genuine, at least.

 

“We need help from another Henry,” Regina says.

 

***

 

Ruby refuses to come inside the vault, and Emma’s glad of it.

 

Their progress across town has been stilted and silent, Regina waving her hands at things and eventually directing them towards the creepiest place possible. Emma would have been surprised if it weren’t so entirely predictable.

 

She remembers being inside this building with Graham, feverish and babbling. This time she reads the inscription - Henry Mills - and it’s enough to make her throw up in the corner.

 

Emma expects Regina to take offense, to throw her out into the cold to wait with Ruby, but instead Regina steps in and absent-mindedly rubs Emma’s back.

 

“I know,” Regina says, shattering the silence as Emma stays hunched over, willing her stomach to settle. “I’m sorry I had to bring you here.”

 

“It’s for Henry,” Emma manages to gasp. She doesn’t spill the contents of her head though, about the father Regina murdered to bring them here or poor, sweet Graham, killed to keep the curse intact. Emma knows these truths now, and she knew them when she took Regina into her bed. It’s being confronted with this reminder, this exposed nerve that was obscured by the bandage of war mentality, that has sent Emma into a tailspin.

 

“It’s not easy, is it?” Regina asks. “Being confronted with the real me, after all this.”

 

Emma shakes her head, and straightens up slowly.

 

“I can’t change it,” Regina adds, her jaw lifted in defiance.

 

“Let’s just get whatever you need, okay? Henry’s waiting.”

 

***

 

It looks like one of Henry’s toys, Emma thinks. Glowing red, almost like plastic.

 

Part of her wants to touch, she even raises her hand, but Regina pulls the heart away.

 

“No,” Regina is firm, her eyes dark with that terrifying depth that makes Emma back slowly towards the stairs. “This is the last bit of leverage I have. This stays with me.”

 

***

 

“So where’s Gold?” Emma asks when they step back out into the night air, but she’s careful not to look either woman in the eye. This is rapidly approaching too-fucking-much territory and there’s a little voice in the back of her head saying there’s still a chance she can pull this off by herself if she can just strike the right bargain with Gold; it’s terrifying that she knows that includes trading herself for the kid.

 

When that happened, Emma doesn’t know, but she suspects that’s why her kisses suddenly started Lazarus-ing people.

 

If there’s a time when all of this won’t be weird, Emma wishes it would hurry up and get here.

 

***

 

The library, Emma is unhappy to see, still stands looking as shuttered but as undisturbed as ever. This is what she considers the point of no return, more so than Regina’s reluctant confession or Henry lying motionless in a hospital bed. Something shifts, something permanent, when you ride down in an elevator to slay a dragon.

 

“This is his base?” Emma asks, unconvinced. “Not some underground lair, not even his own big fancy house?”

 

“Yeah,” Ruby confirms. “You really want to trust me on this,” she adds, hitting her nose with her finger with a silly grin that makes Emma want to giggle, just for a second. There isn’t going to be enough tequila in the world to make them forget this day.

 

“So... do we just knock?” Emma presses, feeling ridiculous as they crouch inside a boarded up dry cleaners’ store. Regina is keeping her distance, as she stands and peers through a gap between boards.

 

“This is where it gets... complicated,” Regina starts to explain, and that is apparently what it takes for Emma to finally lose it.

 

“Oh God,” she gasps, her laughter already on the verge of full-blown hysterics. “But... this? Complicated? Jesus fucking Christ, what has it been before now?”

 

She slumps down against the boards until she’s sitting on the floor, clutching her aching ribs and feeling cool, dusty wood against her cheek. It’s Regina who comes over, crouches beside her and gently (well, not too gently) slaps Emma’s face.

 

“Ow!” Emma yelps, sobering in a second flat.

 

“This isn’t a bad dream, Emma,” Regina lectures. “I need you to stay with me now, because I can’t get Henry alone.”

 

“Fine,” Emma grumbles, sitting up and holding her face. “You didn’t have to hit me.”

 

“Can we get on with it?” Ruby asks, dropping her backpack over by the counter. “I don’t want to chicken out.”

 

Regina looks alarmed at that, and she’s standing again in an instant.

 

“Wait,” Emma says, getting back to her feet, too. “So you’re... what? Going to cast a spell and make her a wolf? Won’t she--no offense, Rubes--you know, eat us?”

 

“Red will be outside when the incantation takes effect,” Regina says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“And how do we stop her eating Henry? How do we turn her back?” Emma’s getting pretty pissed off with this fairytale shorthand and always being the last to know what the hell is going on. She’s got as much chance of being vaporized by lightning bolts or whatever the hell they’re facing, and this half-telling her can’t go on.

 

“She can’t,” Ruby says, taking her necklace off and shoving it in her backpack. She starts stripping, one item at a time until Emma’s pointed look makes Ruby explain a little further. “There’s no point in ruining the clothes when I change.”

 

“So how long until the moon changes and you turn back by yourself?” Emma presses and she can almost taste it, the sense of her own stupidity as the words fall from her lips. There’s a reason nobody told her the whole story, and she doesn’t want to finish the thought.

 

“It won’t work like that,” Regina says. She’s pacing back and forth, the boots which actually belong to Emma are squeaking on the floor. The jeans are Regina’s own, but it occurs to Emma that she’s never seen her wear anything like this before. Maybe Emma just expected Regina to stare down the end of the world in a shift dress and four-inch heels.

 

“Which is why you need this,” Ruby says, pulling something from the jeans she just took off and flicking it at Emma. It’s a silver bullet, and Emma is almost too stunned to catch it, but her hand moves and flexes without conscious thought on her part.

 

“This is the ammo for my Glock,” Emma says, her tongue too thick for her mouth all of a sudden. “Oh, Ruby, no. No, no, no.”

 

“It’s the only way to walk through his enchantments without giving him advance warning,” Regina says. “I can explain to you the layering of magic performed on already magical beings, but we don’t have that kind of time. Ruby breaks the barrier, and we follow her. It’s our only chance at getting through unharmed.”

 

“And then we just shoot her?” Emma squeaks. “Like, in the foot?”

 

“Oh, Emma,” Ruby sighs. “You put it in my heart, or you’re all dead.”

 

Emma wishes she had anything left in her stomach to throw up.

 

***

 

“Only an hour until sun up,” Regina says as she watches Ruby walk across the street. “This had better work.”

 

“I hate this,” Emma whispers. “I hate you for this.”

 

Regina looks at her then, wounded but not even slightly surprised.

 

***

 

“Once we find Henry,” Regina explains, her fingers already swiping at the air to work magic on Ruby. “Your only job--do you hear me--your _only_ job is to get him back here alive, understood? Don’t engage, don’t fight, just pick him up and get. him. out.”

 

“What about--”

 

“I’ll handle the rest,” Regina says, pursing her lips as she performs a final flourish with her hand. “There,” she breathes, and Emma can’t help but look back towards the street.

 

Ruby doesn’t look scared, Emma thinks. She looks so young though, and so impossibly alone. For a moment, Emma thinks Regina’s masterplan isn’t working, and that they’ll have to take their chances with kicking down doors and other tactics more suited to this world.

 

But then Ruby tips her head back and _howls_ ; Emma thinks it sounds more like a scream.

 

***

 

The running feels good, at least, even over such a short distance. It’s the burst of adrenalin Emma needs to clear her head, to stop panicking and just focus on Henry, and getting him back. She wonders if this is how her parents felt in those few hours between giving her up and forgetting she existed (Snow tried to tell her the story a hundred times, but Emma has had enough of stories and so only a few scattered details have been shared in conversation). She wonders if their panic and loss tasted like metal on their tongues.

 

Ruby--not Ruby, the Wolf--is snarling as it sniffs the air. Emma feels herself freeze up as Regina fits her old skeleton key in the library’s lock.

 

The magic barrier must have broken, though Emma felt no evidence of it. She wonders if there might be another deception here, another heartbreaking trick, but even confronted with Regina at her most evil, Emma can’t seem to help trusting what she says.

 

Gold, after all, has form when it comes to tricking them all. And he’s the one who might be hurting Henry. So when the choice is down to this? It isn’t really a choice at all, Emma knows.

 

The Wolf is pacing on the street, pawing at the ground. Emma thinks that maybe--just maybe--it won’t notice them, or that Ruby will somehow be able to exert some control. Emma blinks away sudden, scalding tears at the thought of Ruby, who’s probably gone forever now, even if they can get safely inside without harming her.

 

Regina shoves at the door finally, and Emma tries to rush inside with her.

 

“Wait!” Regina snaps, nodding back at the Wolf who’s already turning towards them. “You still have to shoot her.”

 

“But we’re in!” Emma hisses. “Come on!”

 

“Emma!” Regina warns, because the Wolf is crouching now. “Do you want it to go wandering off into the woods?”

 

Emma thinks about her family, about the people she suspects she’ll never see again, and how she needs them to provide a safe home for Henry if she dies here, tonight. In that moment she reaches for the gun at her hip and fires the most accurate shot of her life.

 

She turns around before the body falls to the ground; there’s nothing she can do to shut out the noise the Wolf makes as it dies.

 

***

 

The library appears untouched from the night when Henry died. Emma knows that the chair in front of her is the one she found Regina tied to, and the discarded duct tape on the floor bears that out. Emma’s overwhelmed, again, by the sense that this could all be wrong; the last fragments of her confidence spiraling out of her with the bullet that killed one of the few dear friends she’s ever had.

 

She doesn’t wait for instruction, doesn’t listen to Regina’s muttered words, but instead strides forward and starts kicking the shit out of the disused library counter. So much for flying under the radar, because either Gold is here and knows they’re here (like he knows everything else, the lying kidnapping son of a motherfucker) or they’re wasting time in an abandoned building while God knows what is happening to Emma’s kid.

 

“Stop it!” Emma hears from behind her, but she kicks and slams her fist against the wood until Regina has to bodily drag her from it. Regina’s arms around her waist is the contact that lets the tears finally fall, and Emma is squirming to break free as though that will stop all these feelings pouring out of her. She had gotten so good at holding all of this in, after years of learning to cry silently and then not cry at all. Since Henry showed up she’s been dangerously vulnerable, feeling things she doesn’t even recognize, let alone understand.

 

“Sorry,” Emma sighs when the fight leaves her body, and only then does Regina let go.

 

“You’re lucky I could silence the worst of it,” Regina snaps, and Emma doesn’t need to turn around to see the pissy little frown. “You need to calm down.”

 

“Calm down?” Emma gasps, reeling around to face Regina, who’s got her arms folded over her black leather jacket. “I just shot my friend in cold blood. Henry could be _dead_ by now, and my only hope is the witch that I’m somehow crazy enough to be screwing in between magical fucking wars. Which bit should I be calm about, Regina? Hmm?”

 

“Boo hoo,” Regina says, her voice cold and mocking. “You’re just like your parents: you honestly believe you’re the only one who’s suffering. Well, this is what being a mother _is_ , Emma Swan. It’s doing anything--anything--to keep your little boy safe. We are his best chance.”

 

“Don’t you dare lecture me,” Emma spits. “I won’t deny what you’ve done for Henry, but you also turned out to be the actual Evil Freaking Queen.”

 

“And you turned out to be a princess,” Regina counters. “I’m tired of this,” she adds. “Let’s do what we came here to do.”

 

“Fine,” Emma agrees. “But once we get Henry out of here? You and I are done.”

 

“I thought we already were,” Regina throws back over her shoulder as she leads the way down a darkened hallway.

 

***

 

Emma doesn’t mean it, is the worst part.

 

Every angry word comes out so easily, and then she’s jogging after Regina and wishing she could take it all back. The risk is, of course, that if Emma has already wounded Regina too much, there’s no way she’s going to forgive it. The last time someone broke her heart, well, Emma is still trying to process all of that. Not to mention that she’s pretty sure she has no claim over Regina’s heart at all, though it has been fun claiming other parts of her night after night.

 

She’s about to ask Regina if they’re even in the right place when the corridor opens up into a grand library, the likes of which Emma has only seen in Disney movies. The light flickers in a strange way, almost as if what she’s seeing isn’t fully there. They’re standing on some kind of balcony, and there are no books up here, just dusty furniture and discarded sheets.

 

Emma leans on the railing as they look out over what feels like miles and miles of books, alert to the slightest sign of movement, for any sign of Henry.

 

The door they came through slams shut behind them in a sudden gust of wind, and Emma feels a trickle of something like ice roll down her spine.

 

The laughter, when it starts, seems to come from everywhere at once. Emma reaches for her gun again, seeing Regina raise her hands in some kind of defensive posture. There’s no sign of anyone, but the bag Regina has strapped across her chest is giving a stronger red glow now, making it visible through the black canvas.

 

“I don’t think so, dearie,” says the echoing voice. Emma turns in time to see sparks crackle at the end of Regina’s fingers, but they fizzle out as Regina is lifted up and slammed against the wall behind them. The impact is loud, sickening, and Emma can feel the air rush from her own body as loudly as Regina’s.

 

Only when Regina is a crumpled heap on the floor does Gold--Rumplestiltskin--step into view. There’s a dark-haired woman at his side, and noise from the stacks of books suggest they’re not the only two in the room.

 

“I’ve come for Henry,” Emma says, sounding a hell of a lot braver than she feels.

 

“Of course you have,” he shouts across the room at her. “Looks like it’s time for us to make another deal.”


	7. Part Six

***PART SIX***

 

“Where is he?” Emma demands, relieved when she hears the noise of Regina moving behind her. Emma can’t risk taking her eyes off this bastard for a second. He’s hopping around, dressed like a creepy David Bowie ripoff, and the girl next to him looks dazed in her shapeless blue dress, hair scraped back in a rough bun.

 

“Emma!” Henry cries out, and that’s when she sees the cage that’s carefully camouflaged in a corner of the floor. The cruelty of it, the complete lack of humanity in locking up a harmless kid like some rabid dog makes Emma see red, and she’s half a second from vaulting over the balcony to throttle Rumplestiltskin with her bare hands.

 

He saves her the trouble, then, with a high-pitched giggle and a flick of his hand. Emma feels the ground give way beneath her, the sudden absence of wood and concrete and _standing_ , and it feels like a cartoon for just a second, until gravity pulls her down, too.

 

***

 

“Regina?” Emma cries out once the impact of her body meeting rubble passes over her like a ten-foot wave of dull, then searing agony. It’s like being punched from five different directions at once, and it’s either a miracle or sheer force of will that allows Emma to sit up and discover no part of her is actually broken.

 

“Henry!” Regina calls out, but there’s a horrible sob where the end of his name should be. Emma scrabbles across the broken masonry towards Regina, whose leg is bent at a really unpleasant angle.

 

“Shit!” Emma just has time to roll before a blast of... something comes right at her back. Regina, even though she looks completely drained of color and there are beads of sweat on her forehead, manages to do something swooshy that gives them some kind of protection. “Can you move?” Emma asks.

 

“Fuck,” Regina replies as she tries to shift her weight. She drops her head in a moment of defeat, and Emma reaches for her hand, trying not to feel much of anything when Regina pulls her hand away.

 

“You have to get Henry,” Regina says. “This won’t hold for long, and I can’t heal myself.”

 

“You can’t?” Emma asks. “What the hell is the point of magic?”

 

“Listen to me,” Regina spits, cautiously touching her broken leg and then biting back a groan. “The Blue Fairy left some... let’s call them notes, okay? Before you start with me. And if we want this to be done, there is a dagger somewhere here that controls Rumplestiltskin.”

 

“What the hell?” Emma groans. “Regina, you could have told me this on the way here.”

 

“I was planning to get it myself,” Regina points out, impatient to a fault. Some of her color is returning, Emma is pleased to note, before she risks a glance over her shoulder at where Henry is still caged, and Rumplestiltskin is hopping around while the brunette looks on..

 

“Where will it be?” Emma presses. “I’ll get it, and then we are taking Henry out of here.”

 

“Watch him,” Regina gasps. “Test where he doesn’t want you to go. You’re the bounty hunter, you can figure the rest out.”

 

“Christ, Regina,” Emma sighs. “One of these days you’re gonna actually make my life easy.”

 

“Be careful,” Regina says. “And give me one of your guns.”

 

Emma hands it over, with just a fleeting sense of panic that Regina might shoot her in the back and take Henry for herself. Sex is one thing, but trust is another thing entirely.

 

“You’ll need this,” Regina says then, flicking her wrist that’s already swollen and starting to bruise. A familiar gleam appears in the air in front of Emma, and she extends her hand on sheer gut instinct, catching her father’s sword by the handle.

 

***

 

The barrier, whatever it is, comes down a minute later and Emma feels more exposed than she’s ever been in her life.

 

“Now, Princess,” Rumplestiltskin says, in that voice that sounds like a drunken pre-schooler. “I believe we were making a deal.”

 

“I want my kid,” Emma says firmly, pressing her lips together as soon as the words are out to hide the tremble in her jaw.

 

“She wants him, too,” Rumplestiltskin replies, nodding towards Regina. “Don’t you, your Majesty?”

 

“Go. To. Hell,” Regina growls at him, and Emma thinks that puts the spotlight back on her. She’s wrong though, because Rumplestiltskin clenches his hand into a fist and then a second later Regina is hovering in mid-air.

 

Emma holds her breath and waits for whatever retribution Regina is about to let fly, but nothing comes. She looks up to see that Regina’s hands are pinned to her sides, like she’s strapped into invisible restraints. That would be scary enough on its own but Regina’s face is showing something that Emma can’t quite understand.

 

She saw Regina in pain a matter of moments ago, and it’s mostly like that but something much, much worse is in Regina’s eyes. She looks... broken. This is the only word that Emma can conjure up.

 

Lifting her sword, Emma moves to take a testing swing at their common enemy, but that just causes Rumplestiltskin to squeeze his fist harder, holding Emma in place with a wave of his other hand. She wants to ask Regina what to do, how to escape it, but any words are cut off by the sound of Regina crying out in anguish.

 

Emma’s never heard a sound quite like it before, but she thinks, if souls exist and it’s possible for them to die? It would sound nearly as horrible as that.

 

***

 

“Let me go!” Regina is kicking at the air now, sobbing each time the motion jars her injured leg. Her hands are pinned flat against her thighs and it looks like she can’t catch her breath at all. “Let me go! Let me!” She’s pleading now, sounding almost like a little girl, and Emma is stunned into silence by the desperation.

 

She hasn’t seen anything like this since her worst foster home, where the kids would take turns being the one to take their foster father’s beatings (he had a fondness for the smallest boy, Mikey, and Emma couldn’t stand by and let that happen).

 

Emma feels the pressure relent and suddenly she’s able to take steps again. Without hesitating she makes a run for Henry’s little prison, almost shouting for joy when the metal bars around him seem to evaporate.

 

But then Henry, too, is in the air. Emma reaches for him, but he’s too high for her to catch so much as an ankle, even when she jumps.

 

Which is a problem in its own right, one that Emma has no idea how to solve just yet, but then she hears the roar of pure rage that bursts out of Regina.

 

“You leave him alone! Put him down!” She’s snarling now, thrashing in the air like a woman possessed. “Don’t do that to him!”

 

“A boy needs to learn, Regina,” Rumplestiltskin scolds, as though he’s a teacher handing out detention. “He has to learn to be _good_ , doesn’t he?”

 

“Stop it!” Regina is shrieking now, and her throat sounds completely raw. “Let go of my son,” she whines, voice almost giving out on her.

 

“He’s _her_ son,” Rumplestiltskin mocks, nodding towards Emma.

 

“He’s _our_ son,” Emma yells at him without thinking. “I’m warning you. Put him down or there’s no deal to be made.”

 

“What about her for him, hmm?” Rumplestiltskin asks. “Would you trade your Queen for your little prince?”

 

“Is that what you’re offering?” Emma hesitates, because she knows what her answer should be. What she doesn’t understand is why she isn’t saying ‘yes’. Regina would do the same if the roles were reversed.

 

“It’s not Wal-mart, Emma,” he scolds. “You don’t get to shop around.”

 

Emma can’t take much more of this, so she hefts her sword again and tries to charge the nasty little man.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Rumplestiltskin warns, easily stepping aside when Emma’s desperate charge reaches him. She doesn’t fall, but it’s close. She’s about to try again when she hears the screams of Regina and Henry mingling, and they look like they’re being crushed. “Drop the sword, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin commands, and Emma lets it fall with a clatter, just in time for Regina and Henry to take gasping breaths again.

 

“Don’t do this, not to him,” Regina whimpers. “I protected him.”

 

“I think your mother had the right idea,” Rumplestiltskin snaps. “In fact, I know she did!” His sing-song voice makes it sound like he’s talking about a beach holiday, not child abuse, and Emma feels her blood boiling all over again. “After all, who do you think taught her how to raise a wilful girl like you?”

 

“This shit ends _now_ ,” Emma yells, reaching for her sword again. To hell with truces and measured steps.

 

“I don’t think so, princess,” he says sweetly, before letting Henry and Regina fall to the floor, the impact sudden and hard. Emma’s sword narrowly misses scalping her as Rumplestiltskin sends it flying over her head. She’s scrabbling for her gun and trying to ignore the groans of agony from Regina. That fall can’t have helped her already battered body, and in that instant, despite any angry words Emma has ever said, she knows she’s not leaving here without Regina, not if Emma can help it.

 

“Stop this!” The brown-haired girl calls from behind a stack of books she was using for cover. “Rumplestiltskin, stop this, please.”

 

“I can’t, my wee darling,” he says, smiling broadly at her. Emma feels her stomach turn over again at the idea that this monster might love that poor girl, who looks like she needs some warm soup and maybe some kind of shelter. “They’d take my power from me, given half the chance.”

 

“And you can’t have that, can you?” The girl says sadly. “What can I do to help?”

 

“Take her weapons,” he orders, jerking his head towards Emma. “I’ll hold her still while you do.”

 

Emma feels the creeping sensation of her limbs turning to lead again, and she stands there awkwardly while the girl comes over to pull Emma’s gun from her hand. Turning out pockets gives up Emma’s knives, and Henry’s Iron Man, which the girl looks at for a long moment before walking across to Henry and handing it to him.

 

“Bring me the gun,” Rumplestiltskin barks, and he’s watching Regina warily for signs of movement, but she’s still laid out on her back, groaning quietly.

 

“Of course, my love,” the girl says, walking up behind him and cracking him hard across the back of the head with the handle.

 

***

 

“Who are you?” Emma asks, when Henry is safely behind her back.

 

“Belle,” she says quietly, closing her eyes to whatever painful memories her name is dredging up.

 

Emma can’t help it, she honestly can’t; she throws back her head and laughs.

 

***

 

“I know your story,” Emma says, not sure why it will help, but trying anyway. “It was my favorite, actually.”

 

“The stories are never right in my world,” Belle says. “I expect they leave things out here, too.”

 

“He’s... well, here we call him the Beast,” Emma continues. 

 

“That much is true,” Belle says, nudging Regina’s shoulder with her shoe. With no small amount of difficulty, Regina forces herself into something like a sitting position.

 

“But you _love_ him,” Regina mocks, still struggling to get her words out. There’s blood matted on the side of her head, and she looks like she’s one blink from passing out.

 

“Yes,” Belle admits. “I do. I probably always will. But I love the man he could be; all he wants is to be the Beast.”

 

“Power is seductive,” Regina says, and it almost sounds sympathetic. “It’s very hard to let it go, once you have it.”

 

“Would you give up yours, now?” Belle asks, and the way she speaks to Regina is far more familiar. “Would you become an _ordinary_ woman?”

 

Regina winces, but she’s actually thinking about it. “If I could be safe? If I could be guaranteed protection for... well, for Henry and me, then yes. I wouldn’t need it anymore.”

 

“You would give it up,” Belle says. “For your son. That’s what he should have done. I don’t expect him to love me that much, but he should have done it for his son.”

 

Emma wants to argue, to point out to Belle that she shouldn’t simply take Regina’s word for it. But Emma watched Regina’s face as she spoke every word, and superpower or not, it sounded a hell of a lot like the truth.

 

“But here’s the problem, dear Belle,” Regina points out. “How can I ever trust that I would be safe? The world is such a dangerous place.”

 

Belle’s face contorts at that. Emma doesn’t see the darkness in her expression until just a moment too late. The gun is moving, and Regina doesn’t even see it happening. 

 

There’s a shot, the dull thud of impact, and the ghost of a scream.

 

***

 

Emma can’t look. Regina’s on her back again, and Emma doesn’t dare look to see if Regina’s chest is still rising and falling. 

 

Emma’s face is wet. She prods uselessly at her cheek, before reaching for Henry, to stop him from seeing what Emma can’t look at. 

 

“Emma!” He’s yelling at her, but it sounds so very far away. She tries to say his name, tries to form the simple word on her tongue, but then the noise comes back, all at once.

 

It feels like her shoulder is gonna explode, she thinks. Which is pretty weird. 

 

She can taste metal in her mouth.

 

***

 

Henry is kneeling in front of her when Emma opens her eyes. She’s propped against some piece of furniture and her entire left side is throbbing so hard it feels like a giant is squeezing her. She smiles weakly at Henry, not sure if her mouth actually moves. It takes a shake of her head to feel clear again.

 

Belle. Surrounded by books. Well, Emma thinks to herself, where the hell is the talking cutlery when you need it?

 

Belle’s standing over Regina, who’s sitting up again, but horror-stricken. 

 

“Emma!” Regina croaks. “Are you okay?”

 

“What happened?” Emma manages to say through gritted teeth. Talking, it turns out, doesn’t exactly help with the pain.

 

“She shot you,” Henry says, and although it sounds sweet and helpful, the kid looks about three seconds away from peeing his pants. Emma looks nervously towards where Rumplestiltskin is still slumped on the floor, before trying to look at the damage to her shoulder.

 

That makes her dizzy, sick and really freaking determined to not do that again. 

 

***

 

“Why the hell did you shoot me?” Emma asks, when she feels able to talk without passing out. “I was being _nice_ to you.”

 

Belle shrugs. “You’re very angry at Rumplestiltskin, but I’m just as angry at your Queen. She deserves to suffer, too.”

 

“Well, not to point out the obvious, but why not shoot her?” Emma presses.

 

“Hey!” Regina grumbles, but Emma ignores it.

 

“Trust me,” Emma says. “By doing this to me, you’re probably doing her a favor.”

 

“What?” Belle snaps, that scary look back on her face. Emma tries not to show fear, but it’s creeping her the hell out. “Oh. Oh, you don’t see it, do you? The way she looks at you. You’re important to her, Emma.”

 

“You really are crazy,” Emma mutters, before she can stop herself.

 

“Let them go,” Regina interrupts. “You can take me. Or leave me here for your little boyfriend to deal with when he wakes up.”

 

“Regina--” Emma tries to interrupt.

 

“No arguments,” Regina insists. “We came here for Henry. So long as he walks out of here with at least one parent, it’s mission accomplished.”

 

“Yeah, but more like the way George Bush said it,” Emma retorts.

 

“He must have a plan for taking us back to the Forest,” Regina says, quite calmly. “Even if he doesn’t, he probably knows how to do it. I should stay. Take Henry and get the hell out.”

 

“Mom, no,” Henry pleads, watching Belle warily before stepping closer to Regina.

 

“I won’t hurt you, Henry,” Belle says, and in that moment she looks almost as young as he does. “I’m sorry that Rumplestiltskin did.”

 

“Stay with Emma!” Regina barks. “Don’t trust her,” she adds, pointing at Belle. “She just admitted she wants to hurt me through the people I love.”

 

Emma tries not to react to what _has_ to be a slip on Regina’s part, but the impact hits her heart like another bullet. She drops her head for a long moment, hoping no one notices her reaction.

 

“Why do you want to hurt my mom?” Henry asks, his defiance the perfect blend of Emma’s genes and Regina’s parenting.

 

“She told a lie about me, once,” Belle sighs. “Oh, she did other things, too. Cost me the man I loved, locked me up in this horrible town for twenty-eight years, but it’s the lie that did the real damage.”

 

“You had prisoners here?” Emma’s head snaps back up, her reaction replaced with blind rage.

 

“It was... necessary,” Regina says quite calmly. She pats the bag that’s resting against her hip. “I told you, I always have leverage.”

 

“You couldn’t leave one life unfucked, could you?” Emma groans. 

 

“Watch your language,” Regina snaps, nodding towards Henry.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Emma fires back. “Death, destruction and a lifetime’s worth of nightmares, but oh, let’s protect Henry from the naughty words.”

 

“I’ve heard cursing before,” Henry chimes in helpfully. “But Emma, we need to get you to a doctor. You too, Mom.”

 

“She’s going nowhere!” Belle shouts. “I’m not done here.”

 

“Then shoot me, if you must,” Regina drawls. “Because frankly, dear, it’s just getting a little dull otherwise."

 

Belle raises the gun, one more time.

 

***

 

Emma Swan is kind of an idiot, sometimes. She knows this fact about herself, just like she knows that her hair is, in fact, naturally blonde and that she really can’t throw with her left arm. 

 

So that’s probably why she launches herself, weak from blood loss and shot in the shoulder, straight at the legs of a madwoman with a gun. Still, she would feel a lot more like an idiot if it hadn’t actually worked.

 

Emma’s sobbing as each rolling wave of pain hits her, but Belle is on the ground beneath her, and the gun went flying off somewhere in the piles of books. That’s a victory, right there. If Emma can fight off the fuzzy blackness at the edge of her vision, it’s going to be fine.

 

“Let me go,” Belle whimpers, and Emma feels herself fade out.

 

***

 

Emma comes to, and spits out the blood that’s pooling under her tongue. It doesn’t seem too bad, this latest hit. 

 

When she opens her eyes fully she sees Regina, standing unsteadily and with all her weight on her uninjured leg. 

 

“Protect Henry,” Regina says. “I don’t want him to see this.” She takes the glowing red heart from her bag and leans over Belle, who’s propped up like Emma is. 

 

“Don’t kill her,” Emma groans. “Enough people have died already.”

 

“She’s not going to kill her,” Henry whispers as he presses into Emma’s side, thankfully not the one she got shot in. 

 

“Look away, Henry,” Regina commands softly, and he presses his face against Emma’s arm obediently. “This is going to hurt,” Regina says, and she looks honest-to-God crazy with the wild eyes and the blood on her face. But Emma can’t look away, she won’t let herself.

 

With a trembling hand, Regina presses the heart against Belle’s chest, and Belle offers no resistance. Emma wonders how long she was out, what they’ve discussed to go from wielding guns to offering up hearts. 

 

“Hold still,” Regina says, and it actually sounds kind. “Close your eyes.”

 

Belle closes her eyes and Regina pushes. Emma tells herself that this is not the weirdest thing she’s ever seen, but her brain is having a hard time believing that as a hand disappears inside another body and comes back out without a mark.

 

Emma’s waiting for something horrible to happen, or maybe for Belle to disappear in a flash of light. Instead she starts, very slowly, to smile. 

 

“Oh,” she says, a laugh tripping out over her words. “I can feel. I can feel everything.”

 

“Yes,” Regina says, moving away. “But be warned, the bad will come too.”

 

“I can take it,” Belle says dreamily. “Oh, I wondered why I felt so awful. I thought I’d never be happy again.”

 

“What did you do?” Emma asks, still not quite trusting herself. Maybe she’s still unconscious on the floor; maybe this really is just a trippy dream.

 

“I’m making amends,” Regina says. “Or trying to.”

 

“Oh,” Emma says, and Henry lifts his head to watch the little scene.

 

“Uh, Mom?” Henry says. “I think Rumplestiltskin just made a noise.”

 

Emma turns along with Regina, and sure enough another little groan escapes the man on the floor.

 

“Shit,” Emma groans. Regina doesn’t correct her this time.

 

“You have to decide,” Regina says firmly, addressing Belle again. “What do you want? Will you stay with him?”

 

There’s a loud crack as the walls begin to tremble. Well, that’s not a good sign, Emma thinks.

 

“I don’t want to stay with him,” Belle tells them, her lower lip trembling. “And even if we can go back? I don’t want to go there, either.”

 

“You want to run,” Emma says softly.

 

“Yes,” Belle drops her chin to her chest for a moment. “I want a fresh start, where nobody can lock me up or tell me what to do.”

 

“It’s not always that easy,” Emma presses. “But if you run far enough, you’ll find somewhere to stop eventually.”

 

“Just tell me where,” Regina sighs, and she looks incredibly weak. “And I’ll send you.”

 

“I read a book here,” Belle replies. “About Hawaii. It seemed nice.”

 

“Very well,” Regina says with a shrug. “But you have to go now.”

 

Belle nods and reaches for the hand that Regina offers. In a flash and a cloud of black smoke, Belle is gone.

 

***

 

“We should go,” Emma warns as the walls shake again. Whatever is happening as Rumplestiltskin starts to wake up, it is not even close to good.

 

“We have to find the dagger,” Regina points out, but she looks like she’s going to collapse at any moment. 

 

“Help me up, kid,” Emma asks, and he wraps her arm around his shoulders to do exactly that. Emma moves in to take Regina’s arm, relieved when there’s no resistance. “There’s no time, Regina. Let’s just go.”

 

“But if we kill him with his dagger, we retain his magic,” Regina explains, her eyes wide with something like excitement. “Combined with my own, it will get us back to the Forest, I’m sure of it.”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Emma pleads. “Nothing will if we’re dead.”

 

“Then you two go,” Regina snaps. “I’ve already told you.”

 

“You know standing around discussing it is usually how the bad guys get thwarted in movies,” Emma jokes weakly.

 

Rumplestiltskin groans again, his legs twitching. It makes books start flying off the shelves, and somewhere overhead glass is cracking. 

 

Emma acts on instinct. She pulls her spare gun from Regina’s waistband and points it at him.

 

“You know what?” Emma says with sudden, perfect clarity. This is what she does, she’s the White Knight, after all. It feels like picking up a bat and knowing that the first hit is going to sail right over the fence. “To hell with daggers, and magic, and all that crap. This ends right here, right now.”

 

It’s awkward, having to point the gun with her left hand, but Emma steps closer to the twitching monster on the floor, figuring a lack of distance will make up for the rest. 

 

“No, stay with Henry,” Regina instructs, nodding for Henry to help her complete the same few steps Emma just did. “I’ll do it. I’ve already killed enough people. You don’t want any more on your conscience.”

 

“Let me do it,” Emma argues. “I’m the White Knight, aren’t I? And the Sheriff, to boot. It should be me.”

 

“I don’t need you to save me,” Regina says sadly. “Every time I did, no one came. I can save myself.”

 

“Okay,” Emma says, because whatever protective urge she feels right now, it’s more important that Regina get her fucked up version of a happy ending. If that means killing the guy who took the real kind away, then so be it.

 

She hands over the gun, and pulls Henry in close so he can’t see. But Emma leaves her hand on Regina’s shoulder as she aims the gun.

 

***

 

Regina nods, sighs, and fires three rounds into Rumpelstiltskin’s head and chest.

 

***

 

Emma panics, at first, when the building starts to crumble. 

 

But then Regina is holding on to her, pistol still in hand, and Henry is squashed between them as they dissolve. It feels like sand has been poured over her, Emma realizes, and just when it feels too weird to handle, she’s solid again, and they’re standing outside the library, watching it fall.

 

It’s loud, is her first thought. And there’s dust everywhere. Henry is shaking as he grips her around the waist, and Regina’s resting her head on Emma’s shoulder in a way that screams exhaustion more than anything like tenderness. 

 

But then the noise isn’t stone and glass anymore. There are voices, loud and tumbling over each other and full of noises Emma can’t even begin to understand. She looks at the ground, remembering the Wolf she killed, seeing nothing but a stain of red that’s rapidly disappearing as the dust cloud settles. 

 

“You got us all out,” Emma mumbles against the side of Regina’s face.

 

“ _That’s_ the point of magic,” Regina retorts, sounding half-asleep. “My kingdom for a painkiller,” she adds. 

 

Henry wriggles out from between them, and Emma just wraps her good arm around Regina a little tighter, pulling her close. They smell like sweat and dust and burning, a little, but Emma can’t let her go, not now.

 

“Everyone’s here!” Henry squeals, running towards the noise. “Grandma! Grandpa!”

 

Emma wants to look up. She will, in a minute. Just a little longer, just like this. 

 

***

 

“What I said earlier,” Emma continues as they sway slightly in the middle of the street. Those voices are getting louder and louder.

 

“S’okay,” Regina says, and it’s only then that Emma realizes Regina’s hand is gripping Emma’s injured shoulder. Which, surprisingly, is not making Emma scream in protest.

 

“What are you doing?” Emma asks, and she feels the aches in her back and legs lessen, too.

 

“Healing,” Regina explains, without lifting her head. She pulls her hand away and a crumpled bullet bounces across the tarmac of the road with a dull tinkling noise.

 

“Nice trick,” Emma concedes. “Can you really not do yourself?”

 

“Doctor,” Regina says, slumping against Emma a little more. Feeling stronger, renewed really, Emma bends at the knee and picks Regina up as carefully as she can.

 

“Ruby!” Henry yells. Emma winces at the name, turns to explain to him that Ruby isn’t going to be in the swarming crowd of people, but instead Emma in confronted with the sight of Ruby herself.

 

There’s a patch of blood on Ruby’s shirt, right over her heart, but she’s walking and smiling and hugging Henry so hard it picks him clear off the ground.

 

“How are you...” Emma starts to ask, almost dropping Regina as her arms go slack with shock.

 

“Magic is unpredictable here,” Regina answers, her words muffled against Emma’s chest.

 

“Guess so,” Ruby shrugs. “What happened in there?”

 

“That,” Emma says, “is one hell of a long story.”

 

***

 

She gets lost, for a minute, in the sensation of hands on her arms, patting her back, talking at her in words she barely understands. Emma’s starting to panic, that familiar tightness in her chest that says it’s time to run, time to get away from all these people demanding things she doesn’t know how to give.

 

But then her father is there, with his serious blue eyes and strong arms. 

 

“Let me take her,” he says. “The doctor is right here.”

 

Emma does, and when the weight of Regina is lifted out of her hands it’s like stepping off of a landmine. It all comes pouring out in tears and sobbed words and feelings, right into the waiting arms of her mother, who knows exactly how to hug it all better without Emma even needing to ask.

 

Snow is stroking Emma’s hair, murmuring that she’s safe, and for maybe the first time in her life that’s true.

 

“I need to go with her,” Emma says when she gets her breath back. “I need to.”

 

“Of course,” Snow says, smiling with just the slightest hint of sadness. “Is he really gone?”

 

“Dead,” Emma confirms. “Saw it with my own eyes. I don’t think we can get back to, you know, the Forest without him, though.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Snow sighs, though the tears shimmering in her eyes suggest otherwise. “Here, there, it doesn’t matter. We just need to be together.”

 

“Emma!” Henry calls out, and with the pressure of her tears released she feels able to be a mother again, to be everything he needs her to be. “They’re taking Mom to the hospital, can we go?”

 

“Of course, kid,” she says, taking his hand as they jog after David. It’s only a couple of blocks to the hospital, and they catch up with him easily enough.

 

“Hey,” Emma says, watching Regina for signs of a reaction.

 

“You’re sticking around?” Regina says, not opening her eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Emma replies. “I suppose I am.”


	8. Epilogue

She’s putting away the last of the dishes when she hears the front door open and close. The slamming of it doesn’t narrow down who it might be, since apparently the inability to come and go in a civilized fashion is a genetic trait. Regina smiles briefly all the same, because if nothing else it’s pleasant to have a home where people want to announce their presence in it.

 

She straightens up from putting away the last of the clean tupperware, and it makes her hip sing out in protest. Regina almost covers the hiss of pain, but Henry is in the kitchen doorway to hear it.

 

“You okay?” He asks, comic book rolled up in one hand and his backpack in the other. “Need me to call Dr. Whale?”

 

Regina opens her mouth to correct him on the name, but sighs and lets it go. Some people prefer their fresh starts, and after almost thirty years of keeping the old names from her tongue, it costs her nothing to forget the ones who wish to be forgotten.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, keeping the irritation from her voice. “How was school?”

 

“Eh,” Henry says, with a shrug. He moves into the kitchen and takes a seat at the counter, dropping the bag at his feet. “Is there any apple pie left from last night?”

 

“Barely,” Regina teases, moving towards the fridge with exaggerated ease, to show that she’s not in pain. “Somebody has a second helping to ‘mop up his ice cream’, as I recall.”

 

“I’m a growing boy,” Henry points out, unfurling his comic and smoothing it open on the counter. That much is certainly true, Regina notes. He’s shot up at least four or five inches in height since she got out of the hospital, and there’s a darkness around his upper lip and jaw that suggests her precious baby boy will soon be buying razors and other unthinkable things.

 

“Did you see her today?” Regina asks lightly, placing the plate with the pie in front of him, before fishing out a fork from the drawer. She spears a corner for herself first, handing over the fork when he pouts. 

 

“Yeah,” Henry says, around a mouthful of pie. “We had lunch.”

 

***

 

“Hey,” Emma says as she slips in through the bedroom door. Her shoes and jacket are already missing, suggesting that tonight she does plan to stay. Regina gives her an appraising look from where she sits in front of the vanity, and returns to applying her night cream.

 

“I said ‘hey’,” Emma repeats as she bends over and rests her chin on Regina’s shoulder. “You gonna give me war paint again? I’m sure my skin is really dry, or whatever.”

 

“This lotion is too rich for you,” Regina says. 

 

“Are you still pissed?” Emma asks. “Henry said you’ve been rattling around the house like Jacob Marley. So I figured you might be pissed.” She straightens up then, walking over to the bed. “I don’t want to have this conversation in the mirror, Regina.”

 

“I don’t know which conversation you mean,” Regina says, and she makes no attempt to keep the haughtiness from her voice. Sometimes, it’s quite liberating to be known as a Queen.

 

Emma flops back onto the bed, kicking her feet out like a restless child. Regina turns on the padded stool to watch her, to watch the rise and fall of her chest in that dark green shirt. The same shirt Emma wore only once in a year until Regina remarked that she liked it, and now it’s in the regular rotation. It might mean nothing, but in a world where they say so very little, Regina has learned to watch for the gestures instead.

 

“About the other day,” Emma says, spreading her arms out to the side like she can make a snow angel in the Egyptian cotton sheets. Regina sighs, stands up, and steps across to lean over Emma. 

 

“I’d rather go to bed,” Regina says, and she’s being completely honest, for a change. 

 

***

 

Emma doesn’t say anything else until the room is dark, and they’re lying side-by-side. Regina is too hot in her silk pajamas, but too stubborn to take them off. Emma, obnoxious to a fault, simply stripped off all her clothes before slipping, uninvited, beneath the sheets.

 

“Do you ever worry,” Emma asks, her voice barely a whisper, the words thick in her throat. “If he’s really gone?”

 

“Three bullets,” Regina says, hoping a lack of words will keep the lie about her own worries from her voice. 

 

“Yeah,” Emma sighs. “You’re probably right.”

 

***

 

They actually sleep for an hour or so. Regina likes to think it’s bloody-mindedness, teaching Emma a lesson about showing up whenever she likes, but the truth lies more in how her residual pain medication makes Regina much more reliant on decent rest than she’s ever been before.

 

“I thought this would be easier, now,” Emma confesses, her hand on Regina’s hip.

 

“What, happily ever after?” Regina mocks, not quite trusting herself to turn around. “It would be easier if you didn’t reject me out of hand.”

 

“I didn’t reject you,” Emma grumbles. “I want to keep my own place a while longer. That’s not a lot to ask, Regina.”

 

“I asked you to move in here, and you said no,” Regina points out, irritated at the sheen of tears that blur her sight for a moment. She will not show that this matters, beyond winning the argument. “Henry wants you here, too.”

 

“Henry also wants a pony, and for you to make him an Iron Man suit from magic,” Emma says, and her point is reasonable, at least. Regina relents for a moment, rolling into Emma’s waiting embrace. “You know this stuff is hard,” Emma adds, kissing Regina on the eyebrow.

 

“We almost died,” Regina sighs, running her hand along Emma’s bare side. “I don’t know more what more you need. You certainly can’t seem to stay out of my bed.”

 

“Time,” Emma says bluntly. “I need time. And this,” she adds, kissing Regina quite sweetly on the mouth. “Is why I can’t stay gone for more than a night at a time.”

 

“That’s because you’re weak-willed,” Regina argues, but she’s threading her fingers through those unruly blonde curls, drawing Emma in for a much deeper kiss. 

 

“Or maybe just stupid,” Emma sighs contentedly, as Regina starts kissing the most sensitive part of her neck. “And I didn’t say never,” she adds. “Just not yet, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Regina says. 

 

***

 

Regina debates getting up once Emma falls asleep again, and eventually a craving for apple juice makes the decision for her.

 

It’s slow progress getting downstairs, her leg seizing up after the unexpected workout, and she’s limping by the time she makes it into the kitchen. So much for modern medicine, she grumbles to herself.

 

She has the fridge door open, before she notices Henry sitting at the counter, in the dark. He has a glass of milk and a flashlight that isn’t turned on. Regina blinks in the light spilling from the fridge, then looks back at her son.

 

“Nightmare?” She asks, quietly.

 

“Little bit,” Henry confirms.

 

“You’re not too old to come and wake me, you know,” Regina says. 

 

“I know Emma stayed, so...” Henry shrugs off her concern.

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Regina states firmly. “If you don’t want to come into my room, just knock and I’ll come to you.”

 

“You’re a good mom,” Henry mumbles, but she hears it. It lights her up inside, she can feel it. It’s every bit as bright as the bulb that illuminates the giant fridge. “I’m sorry that I hated you,” he says, because in whatever this family is, they’re all a lot better at saying the mean parts out loud.

 

“You had every right,” Regina says, bringing the apple juice over and pouring a glass for herself. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you, Henry.”

 

“It’s weird,” Henry says, squinting at her in the dim light. “When you ran, at the hospital, I talked to Emma about you.”

 

“You did?” Regina asks, hesitant as she takes a sip from her glass.

 

“I asked her if she didn’t think that maybe being evil was a kind of curse, too,” Henry says. “I asked her about Belle’s story.”

 

“And what did she say?” Regina presses.

 

“Just that it was okay to love you, pretty much,” Henry says. “I like that about her, don’t you? That even though her mind was blown, she told me I could still love my mom.”

 

“You still can,” Emma says from the doorway. She flicks on the light and strolls across to take a mouthful of juice straight from the bottle. Regina wrinkles her nose in disapproval. “Oh, come on,” Emma defends herself. “It’s almost done; I’ll finish the bottle.”

 

“Your Royal blood just shines through,” Regina mocks, and even Henry smirks at that. “Breaker of curses, savior of the people, and not a scrap of good manners to go with it.”

 

“Is being fussy a curse, too?” Emma teases. “Because I’d like to break that one next.”

 

“You think a lot of yourself,” Regina complains, as Emma steps in close to Regina’s breakfast stool and wraps an arm easily around Regina’s shoulders. Regina feels her arm wrap around Emma’s waist before she can stop herself. Henry lights up at the sight.

 

“You did it, Emma,” he says. “I really don’t think she’s evil anymore.”

 

“‘She’ has a name,” Regina grouses, and she closes her eyes to consider whether Henry’s words are true. There’s a relaxation about her, now, in this house arrest. She feels more at peace that she ever has before, and there’s a chance that by next month she’ll be allowed some of her old freedom back. 

 

But what she can’t tell them is that deep inside her, the old hurts live on. Like scar tissue, they’re a part of her in a way she can’t even begin to erase. She can, however, suppress the urges to hurt and to destroy. She can smother the bitterness with the freely-given love that peppers her days, and enjoy the relenting at last of her hatred towards Snow. They’ve worked together, after a fashion, and while Regina will never love her (and never, ever trust her) she can at least tolerate Snow White. That’s more of a miracle than a victory, and they all know it.

 

“We should all get back to bed,” Emma says carefully. “The sun will be up soon, and I don’t want to hear a lot of bitching when you two can’t wake up properly.”

 

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Henry asks, draining his glass and getting up to leave it in the sink.

 

“I’m strongly considering it,” Emma says, and Regina feels herself exhaling; it feels like the first time in years that she breathes out the whole way.

 

So Emma won’t live here just yet, but in the morning they’ll squabble over how sugary the cereal is and why it’s not healthy to have bacon every morning. Emma will dress in clothes that Regina would rather burn than wear and then Emma will go off to her job of patrolling a disorganized and volatile town, with her father at her side. Regina has no job now, not while she’s still under arrest, but Snow is making a surprisingly adequate Mayor; her occasional emails with strange bureaucratic questions are about much contact as Regina can handle.

 

And Henry, still full of wild ideas and vivid imagination, will take himself off to school where the children who have their correct memories and the ability to age are proving to make much better friends. He’s far less lonely, and although Regina still misses his childish dependence on her, she’s willing to give more of him up to see him happy. 

 

They all make their way back to the stairs, and Henry gives them each an awkward kiss on the cheek before bounding up the steps to his bedroom. Regina freezes for a moment, daunted at the thought of hauling herself up to the second floor again, cursing herself for not considering this in her quest for juice.

 

But Emma’s arm is back, this time around Regina’s waist, and she doesn’t even have to ask.

 

“You’re still healing,” Emma says softly. “Let me help.”

 

Regina leans into her gratefully, but she keeps her hand on the bannister, too.


End file.
